


Work Like A Dog

by taormina



Category: Daredevil (TV), Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dogs, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Painplay, Non-Graphic Violence, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 96,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Frank needs is Matt’s pretty face distracting him from finding his missing dog.</p><p>Or: the unlikely story of how Frank Castle and Matt Murdock got together and potentially saved several cute creatures in the process. (Including themselves.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

‘I’m telling you, Red, I don’t need your help finding my goddamn dog,’ Frank rasped as he watched a too formally dressed Matt Murdock inspect the alley where he had last seen his precious dog. This being a questionable part of town, the derelict, graffiti-covered buildings here were crowded closely together. Every corner was a potential hideout for drunks and pickpockets. It wasn’t a good place to get lost even if you were someone as strong and intimidating as Frank Castle. 

Three overfull trash containers had been shoved into a corner; Frank had already made sure his poor dog wasn’t cowering in one of them. Rude expletives had been sprayed on its sides. Frank was almost glad Matt couldn’t see them and question why he’d been walking his dog _here_ , of all places.

‘Shut up, Frank, I’m trying to listen.’

Frank scoffed. ‘You can hear dogs’ heartbeats now too, huh? Damn show-off.’

Matt shushed Frank again. He knelt on the cold, wet ground – ruining the pair of trousers that he’d had dry-cleaned only yesterday – and ran his fingers over a damp patch next to one of the trash containers Frank had looked into. When he held his wet fingers to his nose, his worst fear came true in the shape of an incessant, metallic smell. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

‘Your dog has been kidnapped, Frank,’ he said flatly.

Matt could hear Frank uncross his arms. ‘What did you just say?’

‘Your dog has been kidnapped,’ Matt reiterated, with the same lack of drama. ‘I’m sorry, Frank.’

Knowing there was no more evidence left to gain from this alley, Matt got up from the floor and wiped his hands on his trousers. As Frank had long, long ago found out the true identity of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen (Frank cleverly put two and two together when he had another good look at Matt Murdock’s lips and noticed how similar they were to Daredevil’s), Matt had opted to meet him in his regular work clothes: a formal suit and tie. He’d look odd looking for a lost dog in his Daredevil suit, anyway. Criminals would never take him seriously again.

Matt realised there was something wrong with Frank when he picked up on his heartbeat this morning. There were several voices that Matt would sometimes check up on in the morning, just to make sure they were still alive and well, and Frank was a recent addition to his short list. Most days Frank sounded like his usual, grumpy self, but this morning was different. He sounded sad. Heartbroken, actually, and once Matt had finished going through his files for a new case, he went to pay Frank a visit. It soon became clear what had occurred.

As usual, the ever-stubborn Frank had insisted that he didn’t need Matt’s help in finding his pet, but that, of course, was a lie: he needed Matt’s help, desperately. _Urgently_ , in fact, and he hoped to God Matt would be able to tell that he did. There was only one thing in the world that Frank liked more than Matt Murdock, and that was his four-legged friend.

‘What do you mean, kidnapped?’

Matt pointed in the general direction of the wet patch on the ground. ‘There’s blood on the ground, Frank, and clear signs that a struggle took place not long ago.  Something bad happened here.’

Another scoff. ‘Like you’d know.’

‘You tell _me_ , Frank. What can you see?’

‘It looks like any other goddamn alley in Hell’s Kitchen, Red,’ Frank exclaimed irritatedly. His heart had started beating faster, more erratically. Matt could feel its urgency resonate in his ear. ‘Is it the dog’s blood? Is he hurt?’

‘No, it’s the blood of the people who took him,’ Matt reassured him swiftly. When Frank’s heartbeat didn’t slow down following this comment, he added, ‘Your dog must’ve bitten one of your assailants while he was taken. I’m guessing we’re looking for someone with a considerable injury on his arm or leg; maybe someone who’s not used to working with dogs or used brute force to get to him. This wasn’t an accident, Frank.’

‘Someone with an injury, huh? That narrows it down,’ Frank said sarcastically.

Matt ignored the comment. He had long ago learned that Frank generally didn’t bother showing his true emotions – in this case, worry – unless he really had to. Every comment came with an extra layer of sarcasm and untruths that only Matt could pierce right through. Perhaps that was the reason why they liked each other so much. ‘Do you know who might’ve done this?’ Matt asked Frank.

Frank shrugged. If he had to name a list of people who had it in for him, they’d be here all month. It had all happened far too quickly, anyway; he was just minding his own business in a relatively quiet but run-down part of town when Frank felt a blow to his head and woke up here, on the ground, two minutes or hours later. He didn’t even hear them coming, the bastards (a sign they were professionals, perhaps); one moment he was awake, the next he was not. But the dog was gone. He’d disappeared into thin air, just like that. Taken by some thug, and for what? To torture him? To make a point after all the crap he’d put other people through? Well, if and when Frank – no, The Punisher – found out who was behind this crime, they’d be very sorry they ever set foot in Hell’s Kitchen at all.

‘I don’t know, Red. It could’ve been anymore. I generally don’t keep tabs on all the people I’ve pissed off, you know.’ He paused as if considering something, then added, without really meaning it, ‘I don’t see how you’re going to be of much use anyway, you know, it’s not like you’re dressed for the damn occasion.’

Matt chuckled. He would’ve seen right through that lie even without his powers. ‘Thanks for that vote of confidence, Frank, but I’m going to help you anyway.’

‘Why? So I’ll be in your debt?’

‘No, so you’ll finally kiss me afterwards,’ Matt noted bravely after a moment’s silence, and he ignored the little flutter that Frank’s heart made a second later. Ah, to feel that flutter again and again!

While Frank and Matt both tolerated each other enough to be able to fight crime together and have the occasional drink after, they’d never dared go further than being partners. (The word “partner” was a bit of a stretch, anyway; it was more like a subtle agreement between two damaged people who’d never admit how much they needed each other.) There’d been brief touches in the aftermaths of conflicts, yes, and lingering looks that Matt could only sense all too well, but never any kissing. Never any _real_ intimacy in spite of how much they liked each other.

Because they did, you know. They did genuinely like each other, more than partners. More than friends, if they were even that. There was simply something incredibly irresistible about Frank Castle as a person, about his motives and background and general look at love and life (and the way his hand felt sort of strong and calloused and warm) — and it really, really helped that he just _sounded_ irresistible, too. Sexy. Attractive. Matt didn’t know what Frank looked like – he’d never asked – but he could hazard a guess. Frank was sexy. And so was Matt, to Frank. Matt was infuriating and far too much of a goody-two-shoes to be taken seriously, but Christ, did he want squeeze the goodness out of him. And kiss him, afterwards.

But first, Frank’s dog.

Frank, who had turned a little red at the mention of a kiss, awkwardly patted Matt on the shoulder before starting towards the other end of the alleyway. ‘You wouldn’t be able to handle my thank-you kisses, Red,’ he noted, with an uncharacteristic cheekiness to his voice. ‘Let’s go ask around and do whatever it is you lawyers do.’

||

What followed, was a rather boring pursuit that was nothing like the late-night chases Frank and Matt usually assisted each other in. There was no fighting, for starters, and Frank was so unused to seeing Matt in his civilian clothes that he often had to do a double-take whenever he saw himself and his partner in crime reflected in a shop window. Was this blind man really the person who polluted his thoughts in the darkest, dirtiest of ways at night? He could hardly fathom it.

The unlikely pair asked around at neighbouring cafés and shops for the whole of the morning, but not a single person had seen something suspicious, let alone a cute, lost dog. It was making Frank feel more worried than he had during every single military mission he’d ever been through (he _really_ liked this dog, you see); he just thought, how the hell were they ever going to pull this off? Did they have to put up “missing” posters? Do you phone the cops when a pet gets missing? (Could he, being who he was?) This was impossible, damn it!

The search was almost starting to seem hopeless until a kind cashier in a cheap but unloved convenience store pointed something out. Her dull shift had already been going for an hour or more, and Frank and Matt were only the second set of potential customers she’d set eyes on all day.

‘I did see some odd fellas in my shop earlier, sort of rough looking,’ the cashier said. She sounded old and weary, and Matt imagined her to be in her late fifties or sixties.

‘When was this?’ said Matt. The hushed ticking of a modern clock in the right-hand corner of the shop seemed to echo his heartbeat. Frank’s was much faster, and had been ever since he met up with him. The cashier’s was steady. Trustworthy.

‘Ten minutes or so ago.’

‘Was one of them injured?’

There was a silence in which Matt guessed the old lady shrugged. ‘Yes, yes, I guess so,’ she said hurriedly, then went on, apropos of nothing, ‘One of ‘em wanted me to take ten per cent off their cigarettes, but we’re not that kind of convenience store, you see, so I told them — I tell them, well if you haven’t got enough cash you can go to the shop just ahead. Then they left.’

‘But one of them _was_ injured?’

The cashier uttered a quasi-affirmative sound.

‘We need you to be sure, ma’am.’

Matt could hear Frank sighing beside him. He was feeling agitated. ‘This is a waste of time, Murdock,’ he hissed. ‘This lady knows nothing. Let’s go and look for these bastards ourselves.’

‘Not yet,’ Matt whispered. He rested a reassuring hand on the small of Frank’s back (sometimes, he wondered if he could get away with “accidentally” misplacing his hand on Frank’s ass), then turned to the lady behind the cash counter again. ‘One of these men, did he have trouble walking? Perhaps his clothes were torn,’ he added, remembering that one time when Frank’s dog mistook him for a crook and attacked him. His suit jacket was rendered irreparable.

The forgetful cashier uttered a sound of remembrance. ‘Ah, yes. Yes, he was, now that you mention it, poor soul. Very unsightly . . .  I did offer him a first-aid kit, you see, cos that’s how I was brought up, but he said it was only a scratch. I’m actually glad they left without buying anything,’ she added, laughing like the stereotypical image of an old woman, ‘I can’t have strangers bleeding all over my shop floor, now can I!’

Matt’s heart rate was starting to mimic Frank’s. They were getting somewhere now. ‘Do you know where they were headed, ma’am?’

‘Well,’ the lady went on after an elongated pause in which she tried and almost failed to remember the details from that morning, ‘they actually stepped into that van right there.’

Matt tilted his head as though he thought he had misheard. ‘What van, ma’am?’

But Frank didn’t stay to see the elderly cashier point at the glass door. He certainly didn’t drag Matt along with him. He couldn’t have, even if he wanted to. Instead, Frank immediately sped off into the cold spring air in pursuit of his dear friend and the people who took him, but when his feet hit the pavement, the black van had already sped off with his dog still inside it.

||

Matt didn’t sense the nonplussed look on Frank’s face when he handed him an insipid cup of tea an hour later. He also didn’t hear the skipping of a heartbeat when he sat next to Frank on the couch and rested a friendly hand on his partner’s knee. He was far feeling far too tired and deflated – and happy to be spending time with Frank, however short and unfortunate– to take much notice of anything right now.

He wished he hadn’t underestimated this little mission of theirs. When Matt found Frank in that alleyway this morning, it didn’t even feel like a mission at all. But it did now. This was serious, and oh so dangerous.

Once Frank had spotted the van and rushed out of the shop at breakneck speed, things went south very quickly. It was impossible to follow Frank while Matt was still in his grey suit and red glasses without attracting attention to himself, and when he finally caught up with his friend ten minutes later, the van was already gone. It had disappeared into a thick wall of traffic. Frank’s dog was gone, for real. Kidnapped, for God knows what reason.

After Frank had calmed down and ceased to shout unnecessary expletives at the air, Matt soon invited him over for a drink and a good chat at his apartment. Frank’s heart was racing the entire time – out of anger or apprehension to be spending time at Matt’s house Matt did not know – but at the end of the day you didn’t really need special powers to notice how Frank was feeling at all; he was absolutely livid, and who could blame him?

Mistaking Frank’s silence for desolation, Matt assured his partner they would find his dog. ‘We’ll find him, Frank,’ he said. ‘You and me, I promise.’

‘Hm.’ Frank took one sip of the tea, then loudly put the cup on the floor – deliberately so – when he couldn’t find a proper table. Not startled, Matt’s hand remained where it was. (He kind of liked how warm Frank’s knee felt against his palm.) ‘Can’t you give me something stronger, Red? Serving me tea . . .’ Frank trailed off incredulously.

Matt opened his mouth to say something snarky, then closed it again. Not saying a word, he fished for the teacup on the floor and got up from the sofa. When he returned from his sparse kitchen a while later, the same cup was filled with the kind of coffee that would probably pass for hot, tasteless water on most days. Regardless, Frank downed it in one go and uttered a very pleasant sound of satisfaction that made Matt’s stomach do a backflip when he was finished.

‘That’s better,’ Frank said before wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Now, Red, what’d your policeman friend say?’

Matt cleared his throat. ‘That the number plate was unregistered,’ - Frank huffed as if to say, _What a surprise, Red_ – ‘and that this wasn’t the first time a dog was taken from the streets like that.’

Frank sat up at that. ‘What do you mean?’

Matt quickly explained. According to his police sources, dogs had been disappearing all over Hell’s Kitchen lately. Dogs like Frank’s, mostly; dogs that could fight. Strong ones. Dogs that could be trained for specific circumstances, or had already been. Thinking about it now, it was almost as if someone was creating an army of poor dogs stolen from their owners.

But for what purpose? What could someone possibly want with that many dogs?

‘How many dogs?’ said Frank.

‘About thirty so far, all taken by thugs and carried off in the same van we saw this morning. This wasn’t personal, Frank. This isn’t your fault.’

Frank’s chest rose in a deep sigh. It was a relief someone hadn’t kidnapped his dog in spite, but damn it — what heartless son of a bitch wakes up one morning and decides to take other people’s dogs? Take them away from families, children, people who desperately needed them? Frank could never imagine becoming that heartless, not even after the shit and hurt he’d been through. Animals had kinder souls than most humans.

When Frank didn’t say anything, Matt went on, ‘I’m going to keep my word, Frank. We’re going to find your dog.’

And then he was going to kiss Frank.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More dogs! “Accidental” touching! Frank shows a softer side!

The first time Frank’s dog saw Matt, the poor thing almost bit Matt’s leg off. He damn nearly killed him. And who could have blamed him? With no-one else to turn to, Matt stumbled into Frank’s soulless, derelict house one evening, bruised and bloodied and barely alive underneath his torn Daredevil suit, and what could the dog do but take Matt for a crook? He had lashed out at criminals less conspicuous looking than that!

It took Frank an awful lot of trouble to convince the dog to get his paws off Matt’s chest and sit in his naughty corner, and even then the poor creature kept growling at him. _Hissing_ , like a damned cat who’d had its tail stepped on. He even barked when Matt’s clumsy feet accidentally knocked over his feed and water bowls. It wasn’t a pretty sight. But then the dog must’ve seen Frank take care of Matt’s battle wounds and expertly stitch him back up – not without purposefully inflicting some extra pain to see Matt writhe on his sofa; just the “accidental” touching of a bruise here and a cut there to hear that one gasped moan – because the next thing the dog did was cuddle up to them. Lick Matt, just slightly. Waggle his tail when Matt called his name. (But not too much; even dogs had dignities to uphold.) He even allowed Matt to pet him awkwardly, and that’s when Frank knew. Matt Murdock was to be trusted.

If his dog felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in Matt’s lap, perhaps Frank could too. One day.

After Matt had spent a night at Frank’s to rest up (on the sofa, mind you), the dog even looked as though he wanted his new playmate to come back the moment he’d closed the door and left. The dog _missed_ this strange, unfamiliar Matt Murdock.

And so, it turned out, did Frank. He missed Matt. Wanted him to _be_ there with him, not just after Matt had healed up and left, but every hour of the day. Every second. Quite frankly, beating up criminals was better with Daredevil beside him. Strolling downtown in the late hours of the night after a particularly good fight? A joy whenever they did so together. Stitching up one’s own wounds? Not so bad if they were Matt’s soft hands that did it.

Without Matt, everything just felt that little bit more hollow, and empty. So, so empty.

Even if Matt _was_ a damn fool sometimes. 

They still didn’t see eye to eye on most things, the two of them. Matt still believed in the law, Frank had given up on it a long, long time ago. Matt thought imprisonment the best punishment for criminals, Frank had rather the bad men with their worse intentions disappear from the face of the Earth for good. Preferably by force. Matt didn’t think giving dogs a lot of wet, “healthy” snacks was a good idea, Frank didn’t give a damn. There was very little they did agree on apart from the fabric and make of the Daredevil suit.

Even when Matt suggested they go and check out a boarding kennel a lot of dogs had been forcefully taken from only yesterday, Frank argued they should pay the place a visit at night, when the thugs were likely to return again. Matt didn’t agree, so they settled their argument with a good, old-fashioned arm wrestling match. Matt won, of course. Matt always wins. (Mostly because he cheats.)

The kennel in question – a small establishment located just south of Hell’s Kitchen, in a verdant street only marginally safer than the one Frank’s dog had been taken from – had had six dogs stolen from their compound just last night. They were all dogs like Frank’s; same breed, same size. Same _van_ as well, judging by the description a cooperating police officer gave over the phone that morning: black and large, with tinted glasses and no registered number plate.

Whoever was behind this crime probably wasn’t looking to keep the dogs for sheer company.

When Frank and Matt arrived at the kennel a little after one in the afternoon, Matt could immediately tell there was something off. There were a lot of distraught heartbeats, humans and animals alike; the humans’ because they were terrified the criminals would one day return and further ruin the name and status of their establishment, the animals’ because they knew their territory had been blundered through and lost to strangers. It was the ultimate humiliation. Even Frank, who did not share Matt’s powers and looked a little out of place in the middle of Mastiff-filled dog crates and Chihuahua playpens, felt it. Tenfold. This was a place maltreated by those who thought they were in power.

For the boys, getting inside the kennel was pretty easy, dog or no dog. Matt said he’d represent the kennel and the pets’ owners should this case ever go to court – pro bono, naturally – and they were predictably led inside without much further ado. Assuming they’d need some time to go over the evidence, the owner of the kennel kindly allowed the lawyer “and his assistant” to have a look around in quiet while she cleaned some of the mess the thugs had left on her carpet last night.

Frank was uncharacteristically demure throughout. Once the kennel owner had left, however, he instantly made it clear he was very pissed off with the things he was seeing indeed.

‘Who would do something like this, Red?’ Matt could hear Frank rasp from a distance. He’d stayed behind to look at something. Evidence, probably. ‘I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, you know, but I’ll never understand why some people think they’re better than animals. They’re damn monsters, all of them. Should be kidnapped and — and skinned, see how _they_ like it.’

Matt ignored that final comment. He was still planning a less . . . permanent punishment for these criminals once they’d caught them. ‘What can you see, Frank? Describe it to me.’

Frank did as he was told. It was a boarding kennel like any other, with enough crates and playpens to accommodate every type of dog there was, but almost every lock and door had been opened. Forcefully, like the criminals had tried wrenching the damn things open. There were even traces of blood and large, unnatural amounts of dogs’ hairs on the floor, and the dogs that had remained looked fearful. Terrified. Like they’d witnessed _hell_.

Worse still, a camera in a corner had been shot. Dog toys had been trampled over and abandoned in a trail of dirt the criminals had left there. A trembling Chihuahua with a silly pink bow across her neck was looking at Frank with big, brown eyes, as if it wanted to be picked up and held. (Frank didn’t tell Matt that, about picking up the Chihuahua.) In other words, this was no place for a dog to be in.

Matt raised his eyebrows. ‘The camera, shot? That’s quite unprecedented, for a . . . dognapping. Even for a second assuming that these people are taking the dogs purely for the dogs _themselves_ and not some sick other reason, why break into a kennel? Why take guns? Why hit _you_ on the head? There’s something I’m missing here, Frank. Frank?’

Frank didn’t respond. He had completely disappeared off Matt’s radar, and Matt would probably have thought Frank had been kidnapped as well if not for the soft paw he felt against his cheek a second later.

For a moment wondering when dogs had become so tall that they could actually reach out and touch people’s cheeks, Matt looked rather puzzled until he realised Frank must’ve grabbed one of the dogs and held it in front of his face. ‘You’ve taken one of the dogs, haven’t you?’ he said, amused.

‘Got a problem with that?’ Frank sneered. Assuming Matt could not possibly sense _everything_ he did, Frank playfully buried his nose into the Chihuahua’s fur and rubbed his face in it like a small child. The fur smelled nice, of home. Of long walks in the park with his family. And later, when all he had was his dog, its fur soaking wet after a downpour of rain had taken them both by surprise. He always loved those walks the best, the ones where every element of nature was against them and yet they kept going, going, going, until Frank’s feet were tired and the dog had to spur him on again. He wouldn’t mind taking Matt with him once, just to see if he had the stamina and patience.

When the Chihuahua responded with a soft bark, Frank burrowed his face into his short fur again and again until he realised Matt was waiting for him to say something. Not having anything interesting to say about the scene of the crime (he wasn’t that kind of vigilante), he settled for, ‘Have you ever had a dog, Red?’

‘Can’t say that I have.’

‘Not even a guide dog?’

Matt smiled. He wasn’t sure why that elicited a skipping of a heartbeat from Frank. ‘No. No pets. Not now, not ever.’

‘What if you get lonely, Red? Then what?’ Frank sounded judgmental. ‘You still don’t want pets then? I mean, you know, I know you can’t see them, but . . .’

Matt laughed incredulously. ‘I — I don’t get lonely, Frank.’

A beat. ‘I think that’s bullshit.’                                                                 

‘And why’s that, Frank?’

‘Why else would you still be spending time with me, Red? Huh?’

‘That’s – that’s a fair point, I’ll give you that.’

In the course of their conversation, Frank’s heartbeat had grown very steady. Like the dog was calming him down. Soothing him.  It almost made Matt wish he had the same effect on him. (The effect he had on Frank was _quite_ the contrary.)

Matt raised his right hand uncertainly. It’d been a while since he last petted a dog. ‘May I?’

‘It’s not my dog, Red,’ said Frank, shrugging, and as if on cue he took Matt’s hand and carefully placed it on the dog’s fur. Guiding him. Telling him where to touch. ‘Be gentle, though. She’s shaking like a damn leaf.’

‘I — I can feel it.’

The last time Matt petted a dog, it was Frank’s, on that cold winter night when he’d been brutally attacked and all he had was Frank’s hands to stanch the bleeding. But this time was different, gentler. Here, in this warm but defaced kennel, Matt wasn’t sure what he enjoyed more; the calming sensation of hundreds upon hundreds of tiny hairs against his palm as the dog quickly breathed in and out, in and out, her body ceasing to tremble as two pairs of steady but uncertain hands held her, or the way Frank’s hand stayed on his throughout, superfluously so. Like _Matt_ was the one who needed calming down.

Sometimes, Matt wished he could see Frank’s face at times like these. See if his expression mirrored his own.

Sometimes, he wondered if Frank ever even felt something at all.

But then Matt would hear Frank’s breathing, and he knew. Frank Castle felt everything.

Steps heralded the arrival of the kind kennel owner, and Matt quickly removed his hand from the dog’s fur as though he had burned it. He could hear Frank chuckle complacently to himself next to him, and Matt felt his cheeks turn the same shameful shade of the suit he’d left at home. Touching like that in public, what were they thinking!

‘She’s taken a liking to you, she has!’ the kennel owner tittered, referring to the Chihuahua in Frank’s hands. ‘She’s only one of the few left behind, bless her. God knows what those criminals have in mind for the ones they took.’

Matt cleared his throat self-consciously. He had _really_ enjoyed feeling Frank’s hand on top of his. ‘Have dogs ever taken from your kennel before, ma’am?’ he said, keen to get to the bottom of this before Frank talked him into adopting that cute Chihuahua.

‘Never,’ said the owner. ‘We’re lucky we get clients at all these days, it’s always so quiet. We used to be the most-visited kennel in town before the big ones took over.’

‘My . . . colleague mentioned your camera was shot,’ said Matt. ( _Were_ they colleagues? Matt could never tell.) ‘Are there any other cameras in the building?’

A deep sigh. ‘Just the one, I’m afraid. It cost a fortune as well; we’re never going to be able to replace it now.’ The kennel owner was quiet, then added uncertainly, ‘But we do have a webcam in the Chihuahua playpen. For internet hits, you see,’ she noted, as if that explained everything. ‘Can’t promise much, but the playpen’s in front of the entrance so it might have those crooks’ faces on it.’

‘Have the police already looked at it?’

The kennel owner’s necklace jangled as she shook her head. ‘You’re the first ones who showed up. The webcam’s about eighteen hours of footage at the moment, though. My co-worker always forgets to erase everything, and there’s no, er – there’s not a time and date on it, if you know what I mean. Might make it difficult to get to the right bit, that.’

A smile played on Matt’s lips. ‘My colleague here won’t mind going through it at all, won’t you, Mr. Castle?’

Silence. ‘You owe me, Murdock.’

||

After Frank had gone through the trouble of fast-forwarding through eighteen (!) hours of Chihuahua footage on the kennel owner’s old, grey computer monitor, he and Matt knew several things: one, their latest enemies were clever enough to wear masks on their dognapping expeditions; two, they treated dogs appallingly; three, one of them – there were four crooks in total, all dressed entirely in black – had a very typical voice, like that of an elderly duck who’d done too much smoking. Unfortunately not much else was to be gained from the webcam footage apart from a cute pair of blinking Chihuahua eyes and the thugs’ quickly passing upper bodies, but Frank and Matt did have _one_ thing to go on: that voice.

Frank reckoned thus: if Matt was capable of finding _him_ – Frank himself – in the middle of a crowded city infested with a million other voices, surely he’d be able to locate a tough, oddly-voiced criminal with the help of a clear audio clip as well? They’d easily be able to go home and return the dogs to their respective owners before Frank’s favourite café closed its doors tonight — if only they used Matt’s powers a little bit more. After all, these dogs were likely in lethal danger; they had no time to bother with Matt’s domestic door-to-door sleuthing! (Sometimes, Matt Murdock _really_ had to be shown that the things that worked in his ordinary day-time job had no place in the things he and Frank dealt with at night. Doing a little investigating might work if you’re dealing with a missing child or suspicious neighbours, but they’d gone past that now. They were dealing with true, hardened criminals. House-visits had no place unless they were planning to kick in the doors of these crooks’ hideouts. Guns and powers were the real answer here.)

But predictably, Matt calmly argued his powers “didn’t work like that”:

‘I don’t just hone in on a voice and know where to find them,’ Matt argued after the kennel owner had gone to make them coffee. They were still in her office, which was filled entirely with outdated animal calendars and “wish you were here” postcards. Frank didn’t appreciate them much. ‘It takes more than that, it takes time and — intuition. Patience.’

‘You know where to find _me_ every time,’ Frank pointed out.

Matt went a little red. ‘Because I — because I _want_ to, Frank. Because —’ Matt wanted to say “because I care about you”, but that seemed presumptive. Wrong, even. Frank was not supposed to know much he cared about him, ever, whether he wanted to kiss him or not. (Because he really did, you know.) ‘It took me weeks to tune into your voice, Frank,’ Matt went on instead. ‘Trust me, it’s better if we approach this rationally. Without powers. Without _guns_. We don’t have the time to sit here and listen to some clip of someone talking in the hopes that I can memorise it and use it like some tracking device.’

Just at that moment, the kennel owner returned with two large cups of coffee. (They were cups with cartoon dogs’ faces on them.) She carefully placed them on her desk before leaving the two professionals to have a quiet discussion about their next proceedings.

‘No,’ Frank said as he stubbornly turned the short clip of the thug’s voice on with a click of a mouse, ‘but we have coffee. That sounds like a good start to me, Red.’

Matt didn’t notice the subtle pitter-patter of Frank’s heart when he chuckled at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some unexpected things have happened to my family recently, so I don't know when the next update will be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys run into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to update this chapter sooner, but life has been pretty weird lately so I've only had time to edit it now. The next chapter is going to pop up a lot quicker, I hope!

On a quiet Sunday evening, a woman in a nightdress closed her red, floor-length curtains and turned off the lights. A rich entrepreneur with dollar bills stuffed into his boxers was waiting for her to undress on the bed.

In a small, dark apartment with only one bedroom, a man was soothing his two children. The floor beneath their feet was covered with a makeshift carpet of eviction letters and bills.

A young couple away on their first date walked down an empty street underneath a roof of darkness, hand in hand; she was terrified, he even more so. In an adjourning alley, a small shape was cowering underneath a thin layer of blankets, the streetlights that stained the cobblestones at his feet too bright for his tired eyes. All he wanted was to sleep the pain away.

At the other end of town, a young man was getting ready for another penniless night shift at his drugstore while partygoers in heels and tight jackets were already drinking themselves to the night’s end. On a rooftop, two men stood facing the darkness: one dressed in red; the other, his clothes a near match for the night.

At first, they didn’t say a word to each other. All they did was listen. Drown out the fear and worry. Drown out the noise that was pulsating all around them like a heavy headache on an otherwise clear night.

For one of them, it was a near-impossible task. How could he listen to anything when he had so much white noise in his head? How could he find the voice and heartbeat of a man – a criminal – he’d never even met and didn’t _want_ to? How could he do anything at all with Frank Castle standing beside him?

Perhaps this was one of those missions when everything wasn’t going to be all right. Perhaps the men who had attacked the kennel weren’t the same people as whoever kidnapped Frank’s dog that morning; it could have been an ordinary man, for all they knew. A child or young guy who just desperately wanted a dog.

Matt knew those things not to be true, but it was the only version of this so-called mission that would not end in people getting hurt. At the end of tonight, a lot of people – good and bad alike – would have gotten very hurt indeed. 

Frank, Matt knew, was getting agitated. Impatient. He could hear his heartbeat thunder in his ears. Hurriedly so, like every second counted on this night when they’d hardly even seen eye to eye about what they were about to do.

Matt’s approach to cases like these was methodical. He was foremost a lawyer, and lawyers investigated things. They collected evidence and listened to people’s stories before charging in, before taking a stand in court and proving someone’s innocence. It’s what he did.

But Frank didn’t _do_ quiet investigating. He didn’t like seeing a plan being carried out slowly. Frank Castle was there to make the tough calls, to move into buildings and barracks no other people would dare to, and right now he was pretty damn sure some heavy doors had to be kicked in for the sake of his dog.

But no, Murdock wanted to _talk_ to these criminals. Reason with them, like — like they were in Matt’s goddamn office.

Well, there would be no reasoning with these people tonight. If and when Daredevil located their whereabouts, The Punisher would make very sure they’d never be able to lay eyes on a dog ever again. Whether Matt liked it or not.

Something was keeping Matt tonight, though, and it wasn’t just his reluctance to severely punish these sought-after criminals like Frank was planning to. They’d been on this dreary rooftop for well over ten minutes, and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had still not located the man in the webcam video. If they stayed here for much longer, they might never be able to save those dogs on time, or at all.

‘Any luck, Red?’ said Frank, a little impatiently. ‘You know, I’m getting real tired of doing nothing.’

Matt rudely shushed him. ‘I can’t focus when you’re talking.’

That made Frank laugh a short kind of laugh. ‘Really? So _I’m_ the problem now? That’s funny.’

‘It’s not just you. There’s — there’s too much interference. Heartbeats, conversations, radio broadcasts. Noises I’m not even supposed to be hearing. Like a — a loud radio at a noisy construction site.’ Matt tilted his head as though he thought that might make him hear better, but still nothing. There was too much and too little going on at the same time.

Maybe Frank was the problem. He _did_ make Matt feel like an infatuated schoolboy at the worst of times; at the best, his feelings for Frank made him focus and fight crooks at the best of his abilities. But tonight, something about Frank was dizzying his head. Unsteadying him. Perhaps it was because Frank’s heart was beating so fast, and Matt’s perfectly matched it.

Matt made a defeated gesture with his arms. ‘I told you it’d be difficult to single that guy out.’ He sighed, giving up. Giving in. ‘We should go back to my office, see if there are different ways of finding him. Not every problem has to be solved in these suits, Frank.’

Frank scoffed. ‘What, so you’re just going to throw in the towel now, huh?’

‘That’s not what I said, Frank, I —‘

‘It sounded a lot like giving up to me, Red. You’re just going to leave those dogs like that? Scared shitless?’

‘No, Frank — I — I’m — God knows I’m trying, but —’

Frank had already made up his mind. There was no going home early tonight, even with a pussy like Matt Murdock. They _would_ settle this tonight.

‘Try — harder,’ Frank ordered, and he elicited a little gasp from Matt when he wordlessly took both of Matt’s hands in his and pressed their foreheads together, like he was trying to make a connection. Like he was trying to see into Matt’s subconscious and _force_ him to find that awful man before the night came to an end.

Predictably, Matt had gone very red. ‘F-Frank,’ he stammered awkwardly, ‘I don’t think this is —’

Frank ignored it and gave Matt’s right hand a painful squeeze. ‘Focus on me only,’ he rasped, out of breath. ‘You can do that, right?’ No reply. Another squeeze. ‘ _Right_ , Red?’

Matt swallowed. It was hard to sense how close Frank was to him right now. Very close indeed, judging by the way he felt Frank’s every word on his lips. The warmth of his breath. His scent of aftershave dizzying Matt’s head until it was all he smelt. Until he found himself wishing he’d smell it _on_ him.  

God, he wanted to kiss him.

He wanted to kiss Frank until all that was left in the world was Daredevil and The Punisher, painting the streets red not with blood but with this goddamn desire that they were both shit scared to pursue. Matt wanted it all, from that first, hesitating touching of lips to the hungry hands on the back of his head, pulling him closer until they were one. They’d do it here, on this rooftop. Pushed up against a trash container in a dirty alleyway, Matt didn’t care; he. wanted. it.

‘Are you doing it yet, Red?’

Matt swallowed. _Not today, Murdock._ ‘I’m — wait.’

Despite every thought of Matt’s suddenly being dedicated to Frank, Frank, Frank, Frank, slowly but surely the noise around him began to fade. First, the buzzing of electricity all around them. The planes flying overhead. The partiers in their party dresses and stilettos. The children that were kept awake by arguing parents and terrible nightmares. The music. The creaks. Then, the subtle, numbing scraping of Frank’s stubble against his cheek as he whispered something to him: focus, focus, focus. The club sounds. The faint meowing of a cat. A complaining squeak of a bed two floors below.

Every sound disappeared, like a hundred lights on a skyscraper being turned off one by one until all that remained was Frank’s unsteady breathing in Matt’s ear, and his heartbeat _thump thump thumping_ so hard that Matt almost felt it against his own chest. Had they not been about to jump head-first into a dangerous mission, they might have kissed and never bothered to leave this rooftop at all.

‘Remember the voice we heard in that video, Red. Find the bastard.’

‘Yes,’ Matt rasped, and it didn’t take him long at all; like a car radio finding its signal after a long drive down a tunnel, Matt finally heard him. Loud and clear, in an empty warehouse mere streets away.

Surrounded by dogs.

‘I’ve got him!’ Daredevil cried, and as though electrocuted he instantly sprinted off with The Punisher in hot pursuit, hoping to God that he had it right. Everything, including his relationship with Frank, depended on Matt being right.

And he was.

||

The now familiar voice was coming from an abandoned retail warehouse only a couple of blocks away from the alley Frank’s own dog had been taken from. With boarded up windows and graffiti-stained walls towering only two stores up and no lackeys or gunman guarding the place – and no innocent civilians to look after –, everything looked pretty straightforward; as far as The Punisher was concerned, they’d just have to kick the doors in and go in guns blazing. Literally. And if Matt suddenly claimed that they had to make sure this was truly the place, Frank would only have to point out that the black van from that morning was parked right in front of one of the building’s two entrances. This was the place, without a doubt.

‘This will be a piece of cake, Red. Those crooks won’t know what’s hit them,’ The Punisher said confidently, accentuating his statement with a pound of his fist against his open palm. He carelessly scanned the exterior of the warehouse for security cameras, but found none. Piece of cake indeed.

But to Matt, who could not see the warehouse from their dark hiding spot away from streetlights and shop windows, the place held infinite dangers. He heard over fifty rapid heartbeats in total, half of them men’s, the other half the resounding heartbeats of scared dogs. In a different room, keys and knives rattled on chains, indicating tight security and danger. A large guy with a heavy step walked circles round the compound too guardedly as if he already knew he and Frank were there. Stuck in a cage two sizes too small, a dog whimpered in pain. The one next to it was already dead. There sounded a soft, careful _thud_ as a loaded gun was laid down on a table, and finally, footsteps signalled the coming or going of an unfamiliar presence that Matt could not put his finger on until he found the space next to him empty.

Frank had gone.

‘Frank?’ Matt hissed, pointlessly feeling for his partner’s body in the dark. ‘This wasn’t what we’d agreed, Frank!’ he whispered to the hollow space next to him. How could Frank had just slipped away like that without his noticing? ‘ _Dammit, Frank_.’

Matt hurriedly got up from the floor, but when he did it was already too late: there followed a gunshot and a man’s whimper, and everything changed.

There was another gunshot. Dogs barked. Men shouted expletives as Frank charged into their compound very, very far away.

A heartbeat stopped. A second, paused and then kick-started by a quick shot of adrenaline. Was it Frank’s? Matt couldn’t tell.

There came three sets of hurried footsteps from all directions, and Daredevil ducked just in time to dodge a fist! Then another one! He shoved his first assailant against a trash container, then kicked the other guy unconscious. A third fist landed squarely on his jaw, and he punched right back. A sound of breaking crates followed, then silence.

It wasn’t over yet.

More men came, and Daredevil got lost in a haze of fists and huffs and moans and kicks, rendering him unable to listen for Frank in the chaos.

Where the hell had he gone?

||

The worst thing about being with Frank Castle on a professional level wasn’t Frank’s constant ignoring of simple orders like ‘keep your mouth shut while I talk to this police officer’ or ‘please don’t enter this abandoned warehouse before we’ve both made sure that it’s absolutely safe because I don’t want you to get hurt, Frank, dammit’. (Clearly Frank had somehow controlled his heartbeat when he promised Matt they’d do things _his_ way tonight.)

It was quite the contrary: the worst thing about being with Frank Castle was that it always brought back memories of better, less complicated times. Taking shots with Frank after a heavy night of too much fighting and not nearly enough fucking. Almost kissing Frank thereafter, when the smell of alcohol and sweat still lingered on their skins and the alcohol _should_ have torn down Frank’s walls but hadn’t. Those were always the worst memories. What could have been.

Even now, as Matt slowly headed towards the sounds of a wounded criminal in the doorway and found his heartbeat slowly fade out to nothingness, those memories kept coming back in short bursts of old sounds and smells, and the odd ghost of a touch on his forearm. Tonight, the flashback was an exact replica of the first time Matt ever worried for Frank, back when they didn’t know whether they were friends or strangers or nothing at all. Frank had gotten hurt real bad, and like a veritable thunderclap on a clear, cloudless night Matt suddenly realised how much he cared for this guy in spite of everything they’d ever been through. He worried for him. Loved him, even. _Wanted_ him. But most of all Matt never wanted Frank to leave, and he felt that odd, anxious feeling again tonight, multiplied as he entered the warehouse and found Frank’s heartbeat completely untraceable.

Had Frank been . . . ?

Surely not?

But Matt hardly had time to worry; a foot hit him right in the chest, and he landed on his back with a sharp pang in his wrist.

Helpless. Hurt.

Driven into a corner.

Matt tried to get up, but it was to no avail. Another boot hit him in the chest, and Matt held himself stiffly when a gun was cocked and pressed to his forehead.

_Cold_.

In the distance, a group of men was talking, watching him. They were not alone: Matt heard a rapid heartbeat race in his ears, coming closer, closer, closer.

It wasn’t his. It wasn’t Frank’s.

It was someone else’s, staring at them through the dark. _Something_ else.

‘I did think I saw ya creepin’ around that kennel earlier,’ the man with the gun said. His breathing was calm and steady, like he’d done this a million times before and didn’t care if Matt lived or died on his premises. He gave a short laugh. ‘Thought you were clever investigatin’ and comin’ here, eh? Well, lemme tell you somethin’, Daredevil or whatever you call yourself these days, you ain’t gettin’ those mutts back. And d’you know why?’

Matt gasped when there was a gunshot, followed by the sound of a dog whimpering in fear and pain. The gun was still pressed to his forehead, its metal colder than ever as it trailed past his right temple.

He had to think, quickly, but he couldn’t without Frank’s heartbeat in his ear. God, why couldn’t he hear him?

‘They’ve long gone, those dogs,’ the man holding the gun said. ‘You can’t save ‘em now.’

_They’ve long gone now._ Why did that sound so odd?

‘What do you mean?’

The man with the gun did not say anything to consider whether he ought to share his evil plans, then he began again. In the background, his lackeys were laughing at the awkward position Daredevil was in. ‘You think we took those mutts for sport, son? Cash? We got somethin’ way better planned for them, believe me.’ The man pressed the barrel of the gun against Matt’s face tighter as if making a point. Threatening him. ‘You’ll see.’

‘Yeah, I doubt that,’ was the last thing Daredevil said before he was knocked out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild Claire appears! There's an argument!

The first thing Matt noticed when he woke up twenty minutes later, was how _silent_ everything had become. He no longer heard raindrops drip onto the warehouse’s broken, hole-filled roof and fall quietly onto the floor, and all the men’s heartbeats had either miraculously disappeared or been put to a sudden stop. Somehow, it reminded Matt of when he and Frank had been tied up and held in the underground lair of a rich internet executive with ties to the criminal world; the lair was so silent you could have heard a pin drop, and they would probably still have been there if Frank hadn’t decided to kick one of their lackeys in the crotch and severely injure another one with the chair he’d been sitting on.

_Frank_.

He needed to find Frank.

His body aching like a dozen fists had punched and beaten him, Matt felt for an empty crate next to him and slowly hauled himself onto his heavy feet. Judging by the cold wetness that trickled down his cheek like a thick, warm tear, one of the criminal’s fists had severely broken his skin. His leg felt swollen and painful as he stepped forward. Everything ached. There was a big cut where his black gloves were supposed to be, but it hardly mattered when Matt walked into a lifeless shape of a dog on the floor a moment later. Its fur was soaking wet. Its body, still and cold.

The dog emitted no heartbeat as rain began to fall faster, pelting what was left of the roof in torrents.

The crook had killed him.

The only reassurance in this was that Matt now knew for sure that the criminals they were after had no emotional share in any of this. This was not about punishing people like Frank or taunting the young children whose dogs had been brutally taken from them; this was a thoughtless, brutal crime. The animals were mere pawns. In what kind of game, Matt didn’t yet know.

Matt made the dog a pointless promise that he would find whoever had done this, and on he went into the warehouse, not knowing what he would find but praying to God it wouldn’t be Frank’s dead body next. He didn’t know what he’d do if he did.

As Matt slowly walked the length of the warehouse, not a single sound remained but for a nagging question in his mind that was destined to haunt him forevermore: why had he been spared?

That bastard from earlier could easily have shot and killed him, and yet here he was, stumbling through an empty warehouse as his body ached like hell. But for what reason? Was it a — a signal? A sign? A brief flicker of humanity in the eyes of a man who had shot a dog only ten seconds previously? How could a case that had seemed so straight-forward when he took it on suddenly become so damn complicated?

Matt didn’t think he’d ever find out when he entered a cold side room and heard one of Frank’s final breaths leave his lips.

‘NO!’ Matt cried, followed by a curse, and he sped off into the direction of that sad, hopeless sound and found Frank on the floor, barely alive. Covered in blood. Ice cold. ‘No, Frank . . . Oh god, Frank, what have they done to you . . . What have they done . . .’ Not thinking twice, Matt immediately picked Frank up with trembling hands and felt warm blood stain his suit.

He’d worry about that later.

Matt’s bruised, wounded arms ached at the sheer weight and size of Frank’s limp body, but he hardly registered it as he half-stumbled, half-ran out of the warehouse and listened his way to the one place where they’d both be safe: Matt’s apartment; the place that Frank had once said looked sadder and more neglected than his own, derelict little house at the edge of town. Matt had since tried to tidy up the place (read: he’d asked Karen to do it for him under the pretext that he kept stumbling into beer bottles and cans of soup), but it hardly mattered now. Getting Frank there on time, did.

Spurred on by the blood that had by now crept into his suit – Frank’s – Matt anxiously quickened his pace.

He kept to the shadows. Shortcuts via rooftops and abandoned alleys were made. One of the dognapping crooks was following them, but it was only Matt’s mind playing tricks on him. A young couple nearly spotted them and shouted out. Frank’s body was starting to become too numb. A police siren sounded, and faster Matt went still until he lost track of time and everything else that would usually have mattered to him when he almost fell into his own hallway a second or an eternity later. He slammed his door shut with his foot, then cautiously walked into his sparse living room and laid a cold, trembling Frank on his sofa.

Matt could hardly hear him.

What followed, was a montage of a terrified, out of his depth Matt Murdock trying everything to nurse a dying Frank Castle back to health until he realised there were some things even Daredevil couldn’t do on his own. Frank may have once patched Matt up, but he couldn’t do the same for Frank tonight.

He needed help, and fast.

||

Claire had been thinking about how she would spend her first, proper day off in six months for _weeks_. (She had asked her supervisor for a day off under the pretence that she had to see a family member in some other state she came up with on the spot — it was a terrible excuse, yes, but a girl needed her rest after all the shit she’d been through.) She’d decided she would visit a dear friend during the day, and enjoy a good take-out and action movie on her couch in the evening. She might even be able to read that book a co-worker had loaned her. After a nice little nightcap in her kitchen, she’d go to bed at eleven or twelve in the evening and have the best sleep she’d had for a long, long time, with or without a hot guy from work by her side.

Claire was already lost in a pleasant, dreamless night when Matt Murdock phoned her and said he “desperately” needed her help.

Sigh. So much for free time.

Matt’s friend was in a bad way. He had wounds the size and shape of shark bites all over his arms and chest (dog bites, she assumed, but she wasn’t sure), and it was a miracle that he hadn’t bled out all over Matt’s living room floor before Claire had the chance to get dressed. Matt had more or less done the best he could for this guy under the dreary circumstances, but, in the end, it was Claire who slowly patched him back up and scrubbed the blood off his skin. (What else is new?)

It was only when the stranger’s hardened, unshaved face reappeared behind a thick layer of dried-up blood that Claire realised why Matt hadn’t taken his friend to the hospital: this guy was Frank Castle, that so-called “Punisher” whom everyone got their panties in a twist about several months ago and who Matt himself had defended in court. She always thought the guy slightly unhinged, but not today; perhaps Claire had gone numb for potentially life-threatening situations after she found Daredevil in a dumpster, but Mr. Castle looked a lot less dangerous covered in band-aids, stitches, and bandages.

Claire decided to mention her patient’s identity while she and Matt were in the kitchen to enjoy a half-assed midnight drink. She did so casually, and without judgment. ‘I didn’t realise you were friends with a known fugitive, Matt. You got any more dangerous friends I need to know about?’

‘We’re not exactly friends.’

‘Oh, so you hold the hands of every wounded criminal you meet, huh?’

Matt chuckled nervously. ‘I — I wasn’t holding his hand.’

(He was.)

‘Sure.’ Claire slowly sipped the cup of coffee Matt had made for her, then made a face as if it tasted absolutely disgusting. She quietly put the cup in the kitchen sink in the hopes that Matt wouldn’t notice and cast the sleeping man on the sofa a cursory glance. ‘He doesn’t have superpowers too, does he? Please tell me he doesn’t have superpowers.’

‘He doesn’t, Claire. Unless being a pain in the ass counts,’ Matt added with a shrug. ‘I really, really like him, though. I mean —’ He cleared his throat when he heard Claire utter a surprised _oh_. ‘He’s not that bad once you get to know him. H-he was attacked by one of the dogs that were taken, you said?’

Claire ignored Matt’s blatant attempt at changing the subject. She’d spent just the right amount of time being Matt’s sort-of-girlfriend to recognise the change in his voice. ‘Not just any dog,’ she whispered conspiratorially even though it was just the two of them and a stranger in this building. ‘Those wounds? They were unlike any dog bites I’ve ever seen. Very scary stuff.’

‘What do you mean, unlike any dog bites you’ve ever seen?

Claire sighed. She’d seen enough superheroes and terrible villains to know that what she was thinking wasn’t beyond the realm of possibilities. That dog that attacked Matt’s friend wasn’t just any ordinary dog.

Perhaps it wasn’t even a dog at all.

‘Claire,’ Matt persisted with a tremble in his voice, ‘what are you implying?’

‘You really want to know what I think, Matt?’

‘I do.’

Claire sighed. ‘I think you may be dealing with a dog who’s been changed, Matt. Deliberately.’ She lowered her voice when a patched-up Frank Castle stirred in his sleep, and cast another curious glance in the fugitive’s direction as she spoke. He really didn’t look all that scary. ‘I mean, is that even possible? Changing a dog’s DNA to turn it into a man-sized creature with big _teeth_? Cos there’s no way a normal dog could have caused those wounds, Matt, I’m telling you. You should’ve seen that guy. No offence.’

‘None taken.’

‘He _is_ cute though, I’ll give you that.’

‘We . . . were talking about dogs, Claire,’ Matt noted as a blush spread over his cheeks. ‘You said something about change?’

‘Yes, yes . . . God, I don’t even know anymore,’ Claire admitted apropos of nothing. ‘Listen to me, talking about that dog like it was some evil creature.’ She was silent as she ran her fingers through her half-long hair, and her heartbeat seemed to suggest that she was thinking something over; the way her view of the world had changed since meeting Daredevil, possibly.

Before Matt, Claire’s life consisted of one night shift after another; night shifts filled with children and old, ageing men and women who had forgotten how brittle their bodies were, but also criminals. A bunch of them. Each night, it was a different story: a young man who had tried and failed to rob a night shop. Some guy who had gotten caught up in a gang war. A girl, no more than nineteen years old, who’d reported her corrupt boyfriend to the police and paid the price on her face. Naturally, the frequency of these patients with their dark stories made a great impact on Claire’s life, at least at first, and she didn’t think it would get any worse until she found Matt all those months ago. Before that day, criminality was bad, yes, but also, something that she could more or less keep a lid on; at the end of the day, knife wounds and guns she could deal with.

Superpowers and zombie children and ninjas were something else.

Finally, Claire spoke again. ‘Perhaps I need to stop spending so much time with you, Matt,’ she said playfully. ‘It would make my life a _whole_ lot easier. Get me into less trouble, too.’

‘No, what you said makes sense,’ said Matt reflectively. ‘It would explain why so many dogs were taken. Perhaps they’re being experimented on, or — or _changed_ , somehow. I did think their heartbeats sounded off tonight. Not animal-like.’

Matt remembered with a pang what one of the crooks had said tonight: _They’ve long gone, those dogs. You can’t save them now_. Perhaps he wasn’t talking literally.

‘Sounds like a dangerous game, Matt,’ Claire noted. ‘You sure you’ve not bitten off more than you can chew?’

‘You mean like those dogs, ma’am?’

Claire started when the large bundle of blankets on Matt’s sofa moved and made a strained effort to sit up. It was half past three in the morning, and only one simple, battered lamp was lit in the entire living room. Outside, streetlamps and electric billboards shone brightly but didn’t reach Matt’s arched windows; it made it hard for Frank to get his bearings, and it was only until he smelled Matt’s strong, familiar scent on the blanket round his shoulders that he realised he must’ve been taken to the Devil’s apartment. When he touched his aching chest, he felt layers of bandages against his fingers. On his lips, he tasted blood.

Then the memories from that night came, and he closed his eyes as he relived it all. The pain. The flashes of red. The stinging on his arms and legs that he felt even as a blanket brushed past his elbow. That s _mell_ , not of Matt’s blanket but of the creature that hurt him and nearly finished him off.

It was over now. He was safe.

Pretending to be perfectly fine, Frank slowly pushed the blanket off his shoulders and stared at Claire for a minute. ‘You the one who patched me up ma’am?’

‘Claire Temple. Nice to meet you.’

‘She’s a friend of mine, Frank,’ said Matt, who saw how carefully Frank was watching her. ‘You can trust her.’

‘If you say so, Red,’ said Frank. He stifled a grunt when he sat straighter. ‘The name’s Frank, ma’am.’

Claire smiled a little awkwardly. ‘Yeah, I — I know who you are.’

‘Murdock’s told you all about me, huh?’

‘Something like that,’ said Claire. ‘What happened in that warehouse, Frank? Matt here told me what you two were up to, but I have to admit, I’m not sure whether my training covers whatever the hell it is you went through. I mean, you look like you were attacked by a _shark_ , and sharks don’t roam the streets of New York the last time _I_ checked.’

‘I _was_ attacked, ma’am.’

‘I can see that. But by what?’

Frank groaned when he decided to get up from the sofa and slowly moved his way to the dirty, cluttered kitchen counter, where Matt and Claire were. One hand on his stomach to press away the pain, he opened a half-empty bottle of orange juice  that he found in a trash can and downed its remaining contents in one go. His thirst unsatisfied, he moved on to a cupboard next before remembering that Matt Murdock was shit at making both tea and coffee and probably wouldn’t have any decent coffee beans or instant coffee in this damn kitchen.

‘When you’re finished emptying Matt’s kitchen, it might help if you told us what attacked you,’ Claire noted as if Frank was one of her regular hospital patients and she was writing in his file. Presently, her “patient” was opening cupboard after cupboard with an awful lot of racket; no doubt to piss Matt off.

‘I was attacked by a dog, ma’am,’ Frank intoned after he’d found a lone can of beer in the fridge. Matt cursed himself for loving the soft, blissful sound Frank made after he’d opened it and taken a big sip. ‘A very large dog.’

Claire shot Matt a _Just as I thought_ sort of look. She continued to listen to Frank with a grave, puzzled expression on her face. ‘How big?’

‘As big as you and me, ma’am,’ Frank said as if it were the most normal thing in the world. ‘With red eyes and fangs the size of tusks.’

It wasn’t a lie. It was true, every word of it. Frank had been attacked by an impossibly large dog.

‘Look,’ Frank added when he’d finished his beer, addressing Matt rather than Claire, ‘do we really have to stand here and, what, _talk_ while those damn thugs are still out there? We ain’t got all night, Red.’

‘We do while you’re still recovering,’ said Matt. ‘You can’t go out like that. Claire told me how bad your injuries were.’

Frank scoffed. ‘No thanks to you, Red.’

A beat. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘I mean you’re a coward, Red,’ Frank said, sounding as uncompanionable as he did when Matt first met him. There was, again, that uncanny judgment in his harsh voice, the looking down on Matt because Daredevil did everything what Frank thought was wrong and stupid and cowardly and, at the end of the day, entirely unproductive.

That’s what he’d just sounded like, like a man who had no chance in hell of ever being loved by someone like Matt Murdock.

‘How does wanting to have a _plan_ before barging in make _me_ a coward, Frank?’ Matt exclaimed. ‘At least I didn’t end up bleeding out all over a warehouse floor!’

‘Yeah, because you weren’t there! I was sticking my damn neck out while you were busy _thinking_ or something.’

‘You _left_ , Frank! You left!’

Claire made a deliberate “halt” gesture with her hands. She’d seen and heard more than enough. Clearly Matt and his “friend” had more issues to work out than they were both letting on, and she had no plans to become involved with them in case things led to a great big fight in which both of them got killed or, worse, a make-out session.

“O—kay, I’m heading home,’ she said, more to herself than to the two quarrelling men. She grabbed her coat from a chair and told Frank to look after his stitches before wishing her friend and her patient goodnight and closing the door behind her. This was way beyond her now.

Tonight, in her apartment, she might take the time to reflect on Matt’s strange, strange relationship with this unexpected friend, but her mind was too full for that now. Tomorrow, she might change her mind about Frank Castle altogether, but not now. Now, she needed a stiff drink and a good, comfortable bed to sleep away her troubles in.

Matt waited until Claire had left the premises, then turned to Frank. ‘It’s not _my_ fault you got hurt, Frank. If you’d stayed with me like I said . . .’

‘If I’d stayed with you, we never would have discovered those bastards’ plans, Red.’

Matt laughed incredulously. ‘Sure. So we know those guys own an unnaturally big dog, but what does that even _mean_? Be honest, Frank, we don’t know _anything_ , and it’s all because of you and your big ego.’

(The latter wasn’t at all true, but Matt didn’t know that; right before he entered the warehouse, Frank pocketed a dead lackey or gunman’s I.D. in the hopes it might come in useful later; the lackey _had_ been rather unique looking with his fair hair and scar running down his left cheek, so someone might recognise him yet.)

‘Bullshit, Matt. We know those guys are playing with something they shouldn’t be, and your business suits sure as hell aren’t going to do anything about it. You didn’t see that dog, Red. It wasn’t an animal, it was a — a damn beast, you know? It damn near killed me, and you’re saying we should lie low?’

‘I never said that, I’m just saying we need to work _together_ on this.’

Frank made a frustrated sound as if he wanted to punch Matt in his pretty flushed face, then thought better of it. ( _Just_.) ‘What is this, girl scouts? You know, Red, perhaps we shouldn’t we work together on this mission after all.’

Frank deposited his empty can of beer into a trash can with a great big _clang_ and made his way back to the sofa, where his clothes were. He knew that if Matt could see him now – wounded, patched-up and shirtless – he would probably try to make Frank see sense; try to talk him out of this, whatever “this” was, but the quick pacing of Frank’s heart had already told Matt everything he needed to know. Not all arguments could be solved with arm wrestling matches or, indeed, idle chats.

Their partnership was over.

‘You’re leaving,’ Matt noted disappointedly.

‘Damn right I am, Red,’ Frank said. He picked up his shirt from the sofa and recoiled when he found it still wet and sticky with blood. His own. ‘You got a shirt I can borrow?’

‘I-In the bedroom,’ Matt stuttered, and he listened with a racing, thundering heart how Frank slowly walked into his bedroom and tore open the first drawer he could find. When Frank returned only a minute later wearing one of Matt’s godawful white dress shirts – it was either that, or dull grey –, he was almost glad Matt couldn’t see him: the shirt was at least one size too small, and the tight material made his bandages poke right through.

‘You don’t have to go, Frank,’ Matt mumbled. It seemed quite natural that the rain began to pour down again at that very moment. It peppered the living room windows with a harsh pitter-patter that Matt would normally have found soothing, but now absolutely hated because of how well it matched how he felt. ‘Please.’

Frank had already collected his own clothes from the sofa and headed towards the door. He ignored the patch of blood that was already starting to stain the sleeves of Matt’s shirt. ‘You just do you, Red. While you sit here trying to think about your next step I’ll already be way ahead of you.’

‘Frank . . .’ Matt persisted, anxious.

What was going on here? They’d had _one_ disagreement, one near-fatal attack, and they were already ending their partnership? Did Frank’s injuries not prove that they were stronger when they worked together and actually bothered to listen to each other?

‘Frank,’ Matt went on, ‘I – I think you need to stay here and rest.’

God, did he want Frank to stay. Had their previous struggles meant nothing?

Frank tried his best to hide his groan when he pulled open the front door and felt an incessant pain shoot through his arm. Every part of his body hurt, even the nerves in his fingers. Judging by the ever-expanding stain of blood on his brand new shirt, he’d probably already managed to pop one of his stitches.

‘Please, Frank.’

‘I’m sorry you won’t be able to kiss me after we’ve solved this case, Red,’ Frank apologised sadly before closing the door with a loud _thump_ that reverberated in Matt’s ear for too long. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt visits a pet shop!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite pedestrian, but things pick up speed again in the next one...

One thing Matt and Foggy always did when they still worked on cases together, was analyse every. single. thing they’d done wrong or right after each failed or successful moment in court. They usually questioned and criticised themselves in a café, when they were far too gone to care about constructive criticism anyway: should Foggy have asked different people to the witness stand? Was Matt’s opening statement good enough? Was it too long? Too wordy or not wordy enough? Did Foggy’s Christmas tie go down well with the people of the jury? Whose fault was it that Matt arrived at an important public trial too late? Did the evidence that they’d meticulously collected even stand up in court at all?

The answers ranged from kind and lenient to brutally honest depending on how much alcohol they’d had: ‘Did the right people give evidence today? D’oh!’ ‘Are you kidding? I thought you absolutely _aced_ that opening statement.’ ‘You wore a _Christmas_ tie to court? Jesus, Foggy.’ ‘WE CAN’T USE EVIDENCE THAT DAREDEVIL PUNCHED OUT OF SOMEONE, MATT!’ etcetera.

Regardless of the type of case or witness, it was questions – and answers – like these that went through Matt’s mind throughout every single trial and office meeting, and so it didn’t come as much of a surprise to him when that same analytical diligence gradually slipped into the night-time side of his life too. It was one of the many things that made Daredevil so damn good.

Even now, as he tried and failed to clean the mess Frank had left in his kitchen, Matt kept replaying his day with Frank in his head as if it were a court case: coming to Frank’s rescue in the alleyway; visiting the dog kennel and finding it almost empty; the video, with its awful main characters; the tracing down of the criminals on that rooftop and finding his hand touched by Frank, and regrettably, The Punisher storming the warehouse in spite of their earlier agreements. Then, being knocked out and finding Frank on the concrete floor, half-dead. The argument that followed that night.

Arrogantly, Matt could find very little that _he’d_ done wrong. It’d been Frank’s decision to go into the criminals’ headquarters alone, and _his_ fault that he got torn up and spat out by a maleficent, maltreated dog a couple of minutes later. Matt was not to blame, and it would have been quite acceptable if he there and then decided to let this odd case go like so many other pointless cases that he and Foggy had stupidly taken on. This was The Punisher’s mission now. Daredevil had very little to do with it, and he _would_ have let it go if his fingers then didn’t accidentally brush Frank’s leather jacket on his sofa.

Frank had left it there, on that armrest, like a silent reminder of what had happened. For a brief moment Matt wondered if Frank had left it there on purpose. 

(Matt was aware he had _not_ , for the record. Frank was not quite so sentimental. Leaving empty cans of beer all over Matt’s kitchen in spite was much more his style. Frank would rather be found dead than being perceived as doing something affectionate.)

That didn’t mean finding that leather piece of evidence in his hands didn’t hurt, though. It hurt badly, because all it did was remind Matt that whatever he and Frank went through and how many times they visited each other’s homes in moments of fear and body ache, they never, ever _stayed_. Even if they hadn’t had an argument tonight, Frank would have left in the middle of the night anyway because that’s what they both did. That’s what they’d always do.

Suddenly feeling very deflated at the quiet reminder of their argument, Matt heaved a deep sigh and let the jacket fall into his lap like a sad heap of bloodied fabric. He absently fumbled with it in his hands until he dozed off and dreamt of Frank’s scent on his skin.

|

Frank had left his jacket on Matt’s sofa on purpose.

|

Matt woke up the next morning with the rare, euphoric feeling that he was going to Get Things Done today. It was as if he’d had one too many energy drinks whose high sugar contents had gone to his head and somehow gotten rid of every single bad thought he’d ever had; compare it, if you will, to a previously deflated college student who suddenly wakes up in the middle of the night to work on their final dissertation with full alertness and without inhibition. That’s what he felt like. Like college, but without the loans and Foggy’s questionable “study” “partners”.

Upon having his first cup of coffee of the day, Matt immediately decided that he wasn’t going to let an argument with Frank Castle get in the way of this case that he’d taken on, and once he’d taken a shower and gotten dressed, he put on his best suit and went out to do the one thing he was good at: doing research. Good, excellent research.

Frank might not want his help, but that did not mean Matt wouldn’t try very, very hard to offer it. The next time they met, Matt would have gathered so much evidence and information that Frank _would_ kiss him. He was sure of it.

But how would he go about it? Assuming for a moment that last night’s dognappers had indeed long gone and abandoned their secret hiding place in that dreadful warehouse, Matt figured he might have to try a different approach today. Instead of trying and failing to unearth more info about their _kidnappers_ , why not try to find out why these particular dogs were taken? Why was Frank’s dog targeted? Why had several dogs in the warehouse been killed? What did the police mean when they told Matt mainly dogs that could “fight” had been taken? Where, indeed, would Matt be able to find an answer to all these questions?

Matt had no idea, frankly. He’d already been to a kennel, and all that led to was him and Frank nearly adopting a Chihuahua.

. . . What if he paid a visit to a pet shop instead?

|

Matt Murdock was very easy to make blush. All it took, was a brief, lingering touch here or a dulcet, ironic word there (like when Frank said Matt wouldn’t be able to handle his thank-you kisses yesterday), and he’d turn the same colour as his beautiful, scarlet suit.

Frank being Frank, he’d sometimes make fun of it if the situation allowed him. Tease him, just slightly. Often, Matt would turn even redder and claim that he was just “feeling really hot”, and ask Frank if they could please get on with whatever it is they were doing.

Frank always saw straight through those lies, special superpowers or not. Matt Murdock _loved_ the attention. He loved the touches and chats and furtive stares that he could feel in the back of his head, even though he desperately claimed he did not. He loved it when Frank absolutely _had_ to touch his chest in order to stitch him back up half a year ago, and he loved it even more when Frank put his forehead against his and told him to concentrate on a rooftop in the middle of a noisy, dangerous city.

And while Frank absolutely loved having that delicious effect on Matt, he also hated how utterly powerful it made him feel. If just the simplest touch made Matt stutter and turn red, God knows how the not-so-tough Devil of Hell’s Kitchen would react if they ever took things further. He’d be able to do _anything_ to Matt, for better or worse.

Kiss him.

Fuck him if Matt one day let him.

Fall asleep on his lap like his precious dog had once had.

Love him.

That’s why Frank had left his jacket there: to taunt Matt, primarily, but also to make his heart skip several beats and remind him that there wasn’t a truth to a single word Frank had spoken last night.

|

Again not located far from the criminal headquarters Matt and Frank went to only last night, the specialist pet shop whose address he’d had Karen look up was the biggest in town. (Apparently it was Hell’s Kitchen’s “premier pet shop”; a feat that a pet shop only two blocks away also claimed.)

The shop Matt was visiting had everything a pet lover might need and more: dog and cat food, fish supplies, rabbit toys and hutches, ferret clothes, dog harnesses, grooming tables, aquariums and fish tanks, gifts and cat calendars, pet carriers, pond decorations, reptile feeders, terrariums, treats, and plenty other sundries. It was absolute paradise, and judging by the various animal sounds and snippets of animated conversations in Matt’s ear, the place was already a cauldron of excited activity; perfect, therefore, for some more investigating.

Equipped with his cane and glasses, Matt slowly went into the crowded pet shop in the hopes of quickly attracting a shop assistant’s attention. Fearing everyone here must be too busy grooming cats and sweet-talking people into buying a hamster or tortoise to notice him, he deliberately knocked over a small pile of discounted cans of dog food with his cane and immediately struck gold: within five seconds, a young-sounding guy came to his rescue and apologised _profusely_ for the canned dog food getting in this potential customer’s way. 

After the shop assistant had shoved most of the cans into a corner with his feet, he started his well-rehearsed sales chat with, ‘Welcome to Hell’s Kitchen’s Pets Paradise, where the customer is king and animals are royalty. Is there anything I can help you with?’

Matt sighed in a relieved manner, something he sometimes did to gain sympathy from potentially useful people. (Foggy always told him off for it.) ‘Oh thank God,’ said Matt, ‘for a moment I was afraid I’d walked into next door’s casino.’

The shop assistant laughed half-heartedly. ‘We can’t have that.’

‘No,’ said Matt, laughing too. He listened whether they were on their own in what he assumed was the dog food department, then went on in a slight whisper, ‘I suppose you _could_ help me, er?’

‘The name’s Bob, Sir. And that’s what I’m here for, Sir.’

‘Well, you see,’ Matt began shyly – again, deliberately –, ‘I get quite lonely sometimes, and I’ve been told by a — a friend that having an animal might help. Maybe a hamster? Or a . . . dog?’

(No, he was _not_ about to adopt a Chihuahua.)

‘You mean like a guide dog, Sir?’

‘. . . yes. Yes, exactly like that.’ In the background, a bird twittered happily as it was let out of its cage and put in the gentle hands of a young child. Closer to him, a woman in heels was busy filling her shopping basket with cans. At the sound of a sixth can hitting the metal of the basket, she turned on her heels and left the aisle. Matt listened attentively until he went on, ‘What kind of dog would I need for that?’

Bob scratched the back of his head. ‘Well, we don’t _do_ guide dogs, to be honest, Sir. That is to say, we obviously don’t have them in our shop, but by the sounds of it I’m guessing you’d be wanting a Labrador or Golden Retriever. It depends on each person though; guide dogs are usually selected based on people’s lifestyles so if you get around a lot you may want to avoid adopting a fat dog, ha ha! I can give you the number of a nearby organization if you want, Sir? They'll be able to arrange a meeting with some of the dogs they've trained especially for this.’

‘Yes, please, Bob. That’d be very useful,’ lied Matt, who was not considering any of the things the shop assistant had just told him at all. ‘But what if I, say, I wanted a Rottweiler? Can those become guide dogs too?’ Matt knew very little about dogs, but he _had_ remembered that Frank’s was a Rottweiler. (A very cute one, apparently, although Matt hardly believed it when the dog attacked him all those months ago.)

‘I'm not so sure about that, Sir,’ said Bob, and his heart made a guilty flutter that made Matt listen more intently. Was this shop assistant about to give some vital information that Matt hadn’t even come here for? ‘You’d be hard pressed to find a Rottweiler these days, anyway, Sir. Same for Pitbulls; they’ve all disappeared from the shelters recently. Good shelters too, respectable places. Labradors make by far the best guide dogs, Sir, but if you're considering just adopting a Rottweiler for company you might have to look outside the city, Sir.’

Matt hadn’t expected that comment to come from a shop assistant. So dogs and kennels _weren’t_ being targeted at random.

‘Disappearing, you say?’ Matt asked in a voice as innocent as he could muster up. ‘That sounds serious.’

‘Yeah. About ten Pitbulls were taken from a local kennel yesterday, and — and actually, Sir,’ Bob added as he remembered something important, ‘just this morning I had these tough-looking men come up to me and ask if I could get them this _massive_ batch of brand new dog medicine for them, for their Rottweilers. Like, they asked for so much that I couldn’t even offer it to them. So I tell them no, they gotta go to the vet for that, and they sort of just looked at me funny and left!’ He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘I reckon it was them, Sir. Those dognappers.’

‘Have you . . . told anyone this?’

Bob shrugged. ‘What good is that gonna do? The police haven’t even been to check up on that kennel yet. And do you know what, Sir,’ he added, lowering his voice once more, ‘word has it those dognapped dogs are being experimented on. Imagine that! I bet there’s something in those new meds they’re using; everyone’s buying it these days, and some owners even came back with complaints. I wouldn’t buy it if I were you, Sir. We’re already thinking about having it recalled.’

Matt’s heart started racing in anticipation. Had he accidentally stumbled upon something extremely important? Were these crooks in vital need of medicine for the dogs they themselves had harmed? Did it mean more dogs had been killed, or was there indeed something in the meds that turned the animals into great, big, murderous monsters?

Oh, if only Frank were here to see what progress he was making! Sure, he’d claim that they were wasting time doing too much talking and not enough fighting, but the importance of this new lead was undeniable: they had to go looking for dodgy dog medicine!

‘What’s the nearest vet here?’ Matt asked Bob. ‘In case I get a dog and I’ll have to take it there.’

‘Just across the road from here,’ said Bob, who was hardly aware of how candidly he’d spoken. ‘Almost everyone in this neighbourhood knows it. You can’t miss it.’

‘I see. Thanks, Bob,’ Matt intoned, and he made a mental note to pay the vet a visit and find out more about that elusive dog medicine the dognappers were in need of . . .


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gets in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have changed this fic's rating because of a faraway, future chapter that I wrote a quick draft for yesterday. Stuff will happen.
> 
> . . . Or *will* it?

In the Navy, no one ever tells you how difficult falling in love is. They don’t mention the difficulties of being away from your loved ones, and they sure as hell don’t prepare you for a life after service. Guns and fights and surviving in the wilderness Frank could now deal with blindfolded, but Matt Murdock was something else entirely. Matt Murdock was everything his life before The Punisher hadn’t warned him about.

He hadn’t planned falling in love with him, you know. He didn’t even like the guy when they first met on that, where was it — that rooftop. Frank had loved, once, and it had taught him that love _hurt_. Love got underneath your fingertips like dirt you can’t wash off, and one moment or another your heart was going to be torn into a million pieces and you’d be left somewhere on your own, loveless and lost. Frank had gotten lost in inhabitable areas before, and it was never as terrifying as losing himself in a stranger’s eyes and finding himself beyond saving.

Frank wasn’t set on going through that process of liking and loving again until Murdock smiled at him and Frank found himself wishing _he_ could be the reason for that smile. He would’ve liked to know how that felt, just once. Be in power, but not because of how strong The Punisher was.

Slowly but surely, a small seed in the pit of Frank’s stomach bloomed into something more. He found himself asking for Matt’s assistance more and more, and praying, begging that Matt would one day take a chance by kissing him — because Frank sure as hell wasn’t going to take the initiative. He could, and he would if he wanted to, but that’s not the game he and Matt were playing. Their game involved waiting and pining and glancing at the other across the other end of the room (for Frank, anyway), and neither of them was too brave to let their guards down and admit that what they really wanted was just a really, really good fuck.

Matt had made a tentative first step by saying he wanted Frank to kiss him after they’d solved the dog case, but that didn’t mean Frank wasn’t going to be a fucking pain in the ass throughout their investigation or whatever was left of it. None of this was ever going to be made easy. Easy was boring.

Perhaps sentimentality was wasted on someone like Frank, but that didn’t mean he ever stopped thinking about Matt. In fact, the first thing Frank thought when he was attacked by that beast of an animal last night was, how was Matt going to react when he saw him? Would he feel sorry for him? Scold him? Lecture him for not following his orders? Cry for him? In the end, Matt ended up doing a bit of everything, and that, perhaps, was the real reason why Frank had left his apartment: they were getting too close too soon. Things, indeed, were becoming far too easy.

Someone would only have to witness how Matt superfluously held Frank’s hand when Claire patched him back up to see how close they’d become. How loved-up they both were. Frank pretended not to have felt it, but he felt everything. Every squeeze. Every cold fingertip tracing down his open, bloodied palm. Quite frankly, Frank didn’t think he’d ever feel anything again when that creature was done with him last night.

It wasn’t just a dog, it was a monster unlike any Frank had ever seen. He had stared into the eyes of bloodthirsty murderers, rapists, conmen and child abusers, and never felt as scared as he did in that warehouse last night. Nearly the size of Frank himself, the Rottweiler looked more like the horrible hounds from the fantastical fairy tales he used to read his kids before bedtime than like someone’s precious pet; it had large, sharp teeth and eyes that burned red in the dull, yellow lights of the derelict building he was in. It drooled hungrily as it drove Frank into a corner, and its heavy, stinking breath was beyond compare. He’d slept on piles of trash that reeked less bad than that.

Clearly someone or something had messed up the dog real bad, and in the brief pause that allowed Frank to think about the things he loved before being attacked and potentially ripped to shreds, he prayed to God that his own dog wouldn’t end up like that.

In Frank’s late-night fairy tales from another life, the hero always ended up saving himself and the poor, dreadful creature from his dreams. The hero always won. That’s what he was there for. But in Frank’s living nightmare, there was no saving him. Unprovoked, the hound lashed out and bit Frank unlike anything he’d ever felt. It wasn’t just pain, it was anguish and horror, its impact multiplied as Frank was somehow kept awake. In the background, he could hear far-away voices threatening his partner, and he eventually ended up praying the dog would just bite his head off.

It was one of the most horrendous moments of Frank’s life, and then he somehow found himself on Matt’s sofa, waking and drowsing off in between confused and pained dreams about blood and animals – dreams throughout which Matt held and squeezed his hand without hesitation. As if Frank had never been stitched up and treated for his wounds before.

Matt was a softie, all right. Had _he_ been attacked by that hound, Frank would probably have teased him for it like he did, well, every other damn time. But not Matt Murdock. Matt was kind and gentle and soft in the way he ran his fingers over Frank’s calloused hands, and he would probably have kissed Frank on that dirty, cotton sofa if not for that unfamiliar nurse.

Frank scoffed when he thought about it again that morning. Matt Murdock, holding his hand? What a fucking joke.

Sticking to his figurative guns, Frank went back to the warehouse right after he’d left Matt’s apartment at two in the morning. Some kicking and punching and threatening people later, Frank stumbled upon a lead on the late dognapper whose I.D. he’d pocketed last night. Apparently the dead man had contacts who may or may not have had something to do with the dogs that had been taken, and presently Frank was in the middle of tracking one of them down in the city’s largest container terminal. He’d hardly slept.

Keeping to the shadows cast on the ground by multi-coloured containers so he wouldn’t be spotted and arrested, Frank walked the large, grey length of the terminal as slowly as possible. To his left, cargo containers were being lifted onto ships and trucks one at a time. Overhead, tall, red cranes loomed over him intimidatingly. They were so tall they almost looked as if they might fall and crush him.

On his right, he saw the wide expanse of the bay stretch out before him, its bright blue hue almost too beautiful for the mission he was on. Above him, the early morning sun shone down upon him favourably; it almost made him wish he could spend his time differently. With Matt, perhaps — walking the dog until the morning came to an end and Matt could no longer keep up with him. Oh, how wonderful that would be.

Ten minutes of lurking and searching later, Frank found the person he was looking for smoking a cigarette next to a truck. He was alone, and the low sunlight made the reflectors on his orange uniform shine perfectly. He matched the description to a tee, and Frank decided to dub him “Port Worker” on the spot because he never bothered to find out his name.

‘Hey!’ Frank cried, and before the poor guy in his reflecting jacket had a chance to respond, he was shoved against his truck face first; left cheek against the cold body frame, arms held painfully behind his back as if Frank were about to tie them up. He had nowhere to go, and there was no point screaming out to his colleagues even if he wanted to: he’d slipped out for a secret smoke in the middle of his morning shift.

‘We need to talk about a pal of yours, pal,’ said Frank, in his usual, _Don’t do anything funny right now or I swear I’ll rip your damn arm off_ -voice. His eyes flashed fire.

‘I — I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Like Frank hadn’t heard that damn lie a million times.

‘Horseshit.’ Frank pushed the guy against the truck a little firmer and twisted his arm tighter. Judging by the muffled scream that escaped Port Worker’s lips next, Frank didn’t need to do much to inflict pain on him. (Shame, really.) ‘Your pal David died in a warehouse last night, son. The one with the damn scar down his left cheek?’ He did not say any more for a few moments to let that message sink in, then began again. ‘He died because he got in my way.’

‘I don’t know him,’ Port Worker persisted in a cross, anxious fashion.

Frank grunted impatiently and shoved the dead criminal’s picture I.D. into Port Worker’s face. It still had blood on it. ‘You sure, sunshine?’

Port Worker said nothing. Dissatisfied, Frank bent his arm into a rather unnatural, painful position and persisted, ‘You _sure_?’

’WE’RE FRIENDS, OKAY! _FRIENDS_! I SWEAR!’ cried Frank’s new suspect.

Frank harrumphed, and he let go of Port Worker and cast a furtive glance down both ends of the area they were in. They were hidden from view by a large, multi-coloured wall of containers stacked on top of each other like small pieces of Lego, but how safe were they really?

‘I did some digging, all right, son,’ Frank went on in a quieter, somewhat gentler voice so as not to _completely_ scare his suspect off, ‘and apparently your pal David came here three days ago asking for a favor. Helped him ship some poor old dogs into the city, did you?’

Port Worker rubbed his wrist. It was already starting to look rather bruised. ‘I-it wasn’t like that.’

‘Then what?’ Frank barked, but not without looking around him again when he thought he heard something. Could someone have watched him re-enter the criminals’ warehouse and followed him here, to the port?

‘D-David asked me to help w-with this big cargo of d-dog medicine, but the police got wind of it so I – I chickened out. Told him I wanted no part in it, and that’s the last time I heard of him. You _have_ to believe me. I could lose my job over this.’

‘Dog medicine, you said?’

Port Worker nodded. A grave expression had passed over his face at the remembrance of something, and he pushed back his wet, sweaty hair and stared at Frank for a minute. He looked as if he were trying to decide whether to share the things he knew; vital things, perhaps. Finally, he spoke. ‘It’s a special kind of medicine, or so I’ve been told. Brand new. One of my pals got it for his sick Labrador and he changed, like. Became more energetic even though the vet told him the dog might have to be put down. Apparently only a few places stock it, and . . .’

‘And _what_?’

‘David . . . his friends . . . they’re planning to rob a vet tonight to get more meds.’

‘Did your pal say which vet?’ asked Frank, but he never got a reply, for the poor port worker was shot right in the head.

|

Matt was feeling quite smug that he had discovered so much about the dognappers’ plans without really putting much effort in this morning. He now knew that one, primarily Pitbulls and Rottweilers were being taken; two, the dogs – and their captors – were in desperate need of a new kind of medicine with an incomparably difficult name that Bob the shop assistant had written down for him so Matt could show it to the vet and get some; and three, said medicine might or might not play a big part in why some of the dogs were presently more monster than animal.

He’d hazard a guess that Frank would never have gathered so much information on his own so soon, especially not with his tendency to get into trouble. Right now, Frank was probably punching his way through the city streets, but not Matt. Matt was proof that his old-fashioned, lawful approach to missions was a whole lot better.

Under normal circumstances, Matt would probably have paid Frank a visit to share his new leads and of course ask him how he was doing, but Matt couldn’t be assed today. He didn’t even bother checking in on his heartbeat in the morning. Frank had made his point pretty clear, and perhaps working on the case separately until they’d both cleared their heads was indeed a better option. Frank would come running back to him soon enough anyway.

(Frank would do nothing of the sort, thank you very much.)

Matt’s positive, productive sentiment from that morning still lingered in his tummy when he walked into next door’s vet at a quarter past nine. He’d prove how good he was yet! He’d ask the person at the reception if they had this specific medicine in stock, and if so, if he or she could please repeat how it worked and what it did because he was forgetful like that. He’d just invent a sickly guide dog on the spot.

Unfortunately, this visit proved to be slightly fruitless: when Matt asked the lady at the reception for the brand new dog medicine those crooks from last night were looking for, he was told rather rudely that the stuff wasn’t currently available. Matt followed this up with a question about when it would be available again and nearly got thrown out; all he got in return was a huffed ‘I’m expectin’ a delivery tonight, okay? Stop askin’, jeez.’

Clearly Bob the shop assistant hadn’t exaggerated when he said a lot of people were using the meds. If so, could there be more dogs who had inadvertently been turned monster like last night’s terrible hound? Were there dogs all over Hell’s Kitchen who were only a bad pill away from no longer being a child’s precious pet . . . ?

|

Deciding there was little point staying in this part of town until the vet closed its doors and welcomed a new batch of medicine tonight, Matt went home to get changed and have a nap on his sofa. But when he got there, someone was already waiting for him in the hallway. And it wasn’t his partner.

‘Claire, is that you?’ A familiar humming indicated that it was. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Just a few minutes,’ Claire said tiredly as she watched Matt unlock his front door with a bit of an effort. She followed him inside without asking for permission, but didn’t take her coat off. Underneath, she was still wearing the same clothes as last night: a simple cotton shirt and jeans. She hadn’t been to work yet. ‘How’s our patient?’ she asked her friend, looking round the living room as if she was half-expecting Frank Castle to be lying on Matt’s sofa still.

‘We had an argument so Frank left a couple of minutes after you did,’ Matt said without elaborating. He gingerly put his cane in a corner of the living room and started towards his cluttered kitchen, where Claire’s half-full cup of coffee still was. It didn’t look like Matt had done much cleaning last night; a wide range of utensils and bottles were still on the kitchen counter. ‘Have you had lunch yet?’

‘Yes. Yes, I have, thank you, Matt,’ Claire said a little too quickly. She was clearly lying, but Matt decided not to push it; he’d had done enough half-assed cooking to know that his meals left much to be desired. Usually, he just ended up ordering pizza and beer.

Matt cleared his throat. ‘You haven’t come here especially for Frank, have you, Claire? I know he didn’t look it last night, but he can take care of himself.’

‘Oh, I don’t doubt that.’ Claire was silent for a minute, then added, ‘Have you told him yet?’

Matt opened his fridge and got out a carton of milk. The fridge was entirely empty apart from two eggs and a can of beer Claire now guessed he kept for special visitors. There didn’t seem to be much else in the house apart from an impressive but superfluous collection of spices and sauces, and for a moment, Claire wondered how Matt even managed to stay alive at all.

‘Told Frank what?’ asked Matt innocently.

‘That you’re in love with him,’ Claire said as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

All the pink left Matt’s cheeks. ‘I – I don’t see how that’s any of your business,’ he stammered.

‘True, but I need to make sure that you won’t do anything stupid to him until his wounds have healed.’ She said it with that same blunt nonchalance, like she was half-expecting Matt and Frank to be in a certain kind of relationship already; the kind that involved fighting and other things starting with f that had never even crossed Matt’s mind. But they had _now_ , at this very moment, and it seemed silly to even imagine that such a thing would ever even happen at all.

They’d _fought_ last night. They’d be doing very little of the other thing.

‘That — that won’t be an issue.’

Claire crossed her arms. ‘Really? Cos you looked pretty loved-up last night.’ She stopped and turned to look at the jacket that had been draped over a chair — Frank’s. It had stains of blood still all over it, and it looked pretty torn. It was something anyone else would have thrown into a bin, but not Matt. Not with a jacket that was Frank’s.

If she didn’t know better, she’d almost think Frank and Matt had done more than arguing last night. ‘I just don’t want you to get hurt, Matt,’ she went on casually. ‘I say that as a friend, not a nurse. I know you’ve had your fair share of shit in this town but that doesn’t mean you have to go looking for it in your love life. And trust me, I’m speaking from experience. I’ve dated them _all_. Including you.’

Matt chuckled and opened his carton of milk before he spoke. It was hard to imagine something like love could one day have been so simple and not quite so complicated. ‘That wasn’t dating.’

‘No, but we’ve kissed,’ said Claire. Her voice had softened at the memory of her brief dalliances with Matt, even if he _was_ a crap lover. ‘I’d say that counts.’

‘I didn’t realise you looked back on those kisses so fondly, Claire.’

‘Don’t push it, Matt. You weren’t _that_ good.’

‘ _Hah._ Fair enough.’

Matt was quiet and reflective as he poured a small layer of milk into a shot glass. He took one sip, and then another before he spoke. The milk tasted sour and unpleasant; a perfect reflection of the aftertaste Frank had left in his mouth when he walked out of his door without his jacket on. Then there came just a slight hint of sweetness at the back of his tongue, and Matt again remembered why he was here, in his apartment, talking about the person he liked best.

‘I know Frank Castle isn’t perfect, Claire. I know he’s done bad, irredeemable things, and — and honestly? I’m not sure if God will ever forgive him. I don’t know if the good that Frank Castle has done over the past few months is enough to obtain salvation. But I — _have_. I’ve forgiven him. I can’t explain why, or how, Claire, but I have, and I’d like to think that I’m attracted to Frank because of what we can mean to each other and not because of the darkness that surrounds us both.’

Claire uttered an impressed sound. ‘You should say that to his face.’

‘I think if I did, he’d punch me.’

‘Well, I won’t stop you if that’s what you’re into.’

‘Jesus, Claire.’

Matt and Claire spent the rest of the afternoon talking about love and Frank and more love, and after Claire had absolutely made Matt promise that he would pay Frank a visit this week and make sure he was all right, Matt had a tremendous nap on his sofa. Tonight, he’d visit the local veterinary clinic and come one step closer to discovering the villains’ terrible plans, with or without The Punisher . . .

|

There was an awful lot of running involved in this job. There was the chasing down of bad guys on rooftops and illuminated city streets where Audis and tree trunks were the only things to stop you from getting killed, and then this, running past red, black and green cargo containers as he was being shot at. The sky was vibrant with arctic blues and brushstrokes of white, but it didn’t fit the mood. No sky or beautiful city setting ever did.

With Daredevil, running felt like soaring. _Flying_. Together, it felt as if they could reach every rooftop they’d set their sights on, their minds and bodies aided by the quickness of their step but also the admiration they harbored for each other. If one of them slipped and fell, there would always be a hand to drag them back up. It’d taken many months and near-failed pursuits for them to get in sync like that.

But now, running made Frank feel uncharacteristically hollow as he left a dead man behind; a young guy, killed because he knew too much. Frank would almost have felt sorry for him, but there was no time for that now. Regrets were wasted on the dead, and presently Frank was having a pretty difficult job staying alive himself.

There were about seven gunmen in total, and another half dozen of men with hunting dogs by their sides. Frank had hardly had the time to count them; he simply ran as quickly as his tired feet would carry him. Faster, faster, faster.

The dogs, he knew, were there to drive him into a corner. The gunmen were going in for the kill.

He no longer felt the blood that was trickling down his arms as his stitches had come undone.

Frank tried to stick to the shadows. Disappear into an open container if he could. Climb a crane. His efforts were fruitless; at every turn he took, another gunman would take a shot at him. Aim at his head or legs. Most times they missed. Sometimes they weren’t even trying at all. Then Frank took a sharp right turn past a high, towering structure of cargo containers, and he was hit. Then again. And again, although it was only a scratch.

Pain soar through his arm as his body remembered the wounds from last night, and The Punisher fell painfully onto his hands and knees in front of the water’s edge, inches away from a catastrophic drop. How he’d gotten there, he did not know.

He was as helpless as he had been last night.

His gun – the only one he had with him today because somehow something made him want to prove to Matt Murdock that he could get through a day without wasting bullets – had disappeared. Left on a concrete floor during his flight. Or taken from him by one of the crooks he’d tried so hard to outrun. He couldn’t remember.

The only weapons he had left were his fists and his body, rendered absolutely redundant in his efforts to stay alive last night. His left hand looked a bloody mess after it had broken his fall onto the concrete. His right, bruised and almost broken. Even his legs were starting to feel like they had blocks of concrete tied to them. He couldn’t bear to think about what he’d look like underneath his outfit.

For a second, Frank wondered if this is what Matt felt like every moment of his life. Not to be blind, but to have to depend so dearly on other things. Sound. Scent. His wit.

Right now, his wit might be the only thing Frank had left.

He was still on the ground. Aching. Numb.

He quickly tried to get his bearings. Behind him, a large cargo ship with tens upon hundreds of colourful containers was being readied for departure. Its destination, he could not tell. In front of him, one of the men he’d left bleeding in the warehouse strutted towards him with a gun in one hand and a dog leash in the other. At the end of the leash, there was the same red-eyed dog who’d tackled him and taken him out. They were both mere feet away from the water down, down below. A fall could injure or kill even the most trained of assassins. 

In that moment, a thought that only the near-dead could have occurred to him: he could beg for the gunman to shoot him in the head and finish this off quickly, or he could brace the dog’s fury and hope he’d be given enough time to come up with a better plan. Perhaps he could even talk the men into giving up _their_ plans, but what good would that do? He’d die anyway. This trip to the port was always going to end one way, and he knew it.

He just wished he didn’t have to take that port worker with him.

Matt would probably be proud of Frank that he hadn’t killed anyone today. He could always get so sentimental and preachy about that, like they were both back in church. Frank never saw the point of sparing bad people’s lives, but he never thought his missions would end up in innocent people getting hurt either. That port worker, he was innocent. He was friends with these shitbags, yes, but he wasn’t exactly in cahoots with them either — now, he was gone because Frank had visited him.

Why did that make him feel so odd?

A gun was cocked.

A dog barked.

Frank wondered if the man with the gun and the dog leash thought he was scared of dying. Frank had never felt scared of dying in his life, but then again Frank didn’t like life and people very much. But lately, the world seemed to be getting nicer. Warmer. Redder, because of Matt Murdock. More complicated and less divided in black and white boxes that only good and wrong people fitted into. Complex, because suddenly he felt himself caring for people that had gotten hurt because of him.

How that feeling had come to be, Frank couldn’t remember; all he remembered was that he somehow, inevitably, ended up in the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next two chapters for this already down, but I think I accidentally deleted a couple of paragraphs so I'm going to read them through again before updating. Thanks for waiting!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt's attempts to get his hands on dodgy dog medicine takes an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A deliberately short chapter this time.

If Frank and Matt had actually worked together on this case and not gotten into a big fight about whose methods were better, Matt would know that the hypermodern veterinary clinic he was about to break into was the target of a big robbery. He’d also know that said robbers took their possibly medically enhanced dogs with them everywhere they went and that Frank Castle was currently dead or on the verge of dying.

Alas, Daredevil and The Punisher had momentarily put a stop to their tumultuous partnership because of their big egos and incompatible work styles, and so Matt had no idea what to expect when he wrung himself through the small, sharp window he had punched into an opaque window. No-one had spotted him doing it, not even the trainee vet who had stayed behind in her boss’s tiny office to work on her thesis.

Matt knew that the medicine he and so many others were looking for was already in the clinic, for a nervous delivery man delivered his one and only package precisely twenty-one and a half minutes ago. A young lady with pigtails and ink-stained hands accepted it, signature and all, and brought the package into the clinic with her. Judging by the sound of her flat ballerina shoes on the floor of the reception room, she had put the package into a large room on the east side of the building. After she’d locked the room, she went into a different room and fell asleep on her desk. Matt could hear her soft, stable breathing through the comforts of the clinic’s brick walls. Five minutes later, she woke up again and continued to drowsily scribble footnotes and quotes in her notebook.

Matt hadn’t felt like waylaying the trainee or the nervous delivery man, even though he probably should have. Tonight was supposed to be a clean mission; enter the clinic, find what he needed, and leave. No-one needed to get hurt.

Upon entering the reception room of the vet, the atmosphere instantly felt considerably different than this morning: there were no sickly dogs and cats barking and barfing all over the place. The reception was deserted. All veterinarians, assistant vets, and receptionists had gone — all but one. The few remaining heartbeats were those of the animals who’d stayed behind in their cages and bandages. Only that young, sleepy woman was still here, working at her desk and occasionally drowsing off. She posed no threat.

The only real, pressing sound that remained was the ticking of a round clock in the corner. For Matt, the sound was a serene but constant presence that somehow managed to calm down his quickly beating heart; he was nervous, but he did not know why. Perhaps it was because he was so used to having Frank there with him.

He couldn’t even remember a time when they _hadn’t_ worked together. It must have been months ago, perhaps even a year. Every mission before they were destined to meet felt so lonely in hindsight.

The first time Matt and Frank worked together on a case was quite an eye-opener. Finally, Frank wasn’t the main suspect and Matt wasn’t an active attorney, but that changed nothing about how they approached the case. They didn’t just disagree about what to do or which people to take on first, they plain got in each other’s way. Deliberately. Every time Frank tried to get a shot at someone, Matt would just punch the guy unconscious instead. Every time Matt wanted to shove some robber or common thief against a wall and interrogate them, Frank would already have severely injured them. Every time Matt said “left”, Frank would go right, etcetera. Everything they did was destined to be a disaster, and sometimes that was indeed what happened.

One of the boys’ first missions involved the abduction of a child. Said child was the son of a rich entrepreneur who may or may not have had stakes in fishy offshore businesses, and the kid must have been kidnapped because someone was after his father’s money. It was soon discovered that he was being held on the top floor of a high-tech apartment block that was still in development, and our questionable heroes went in without really having discussed what the hell they were supposed to do. Matt thought their main priority ought to be saving the child and getting the criminals locked up and prosecuted; Frank reckoned that they were better off killing every shitbag of a child abductor first. As per usual they severely disagreed, and the child nearly died after falling off the eleventh floor of an apartment building. His captors were left for dead.

On their second mission, Matt became so hell-bent on following the rules and not breaking people’s necks that he’d accidentally had the wrong person arrested. The real criminal was still out there on the streets, and he would probably have killed a whole lot of people if Frank had not coldly put him down. Naturally, Matt claimed that putting him down was “not the right thing to do” and that Frank should have just used his damn head instead of letting his guns do the job for him, but Frank strongly disagreed. He usually did. Most of the time, they couldn’t even agree on what beverage to drink after a long night out. (Frank: proper, dark, well-roasted coffee. Matt: whatever was available in the fridge, i.e. not much.)

The Punisher and Daredevil were simply not made for each other, and they would almost certainly have ceased to work together long before dognappings and arguments if not for those butterflies they felt in their stomachs each time they met. It was exhilarating. Exciting. Different as well, for who can say that they felt butterflies during a night when everything was supposed to be scary and oh so dangerous? If they felt scared or overwhelmed, all they’d have to do was look at the other guy and realise that being in love was far scarier than men with guns and dogs would ever be.

But it wasn’t just that. On their first couple of missions they made a very big mess of it, yes, and it would probably have gone a lot better if they’d actually listened to each other and not acted like insolent little boys, but that was beside the point. They’d completed their missions. All of them. The children were safe. The criminals were dead or behind bars, and for the first time in years, they actually felt safe themselves. Secure. They felt safe because they knew that someone had their backs. Someone would grab their hand if they fell and pull them back up without question, without effort. They’d do so not because it was the right thing to do but because they didn’t want the other to leave them behind.

At the end of the day, that sentiment was more important than anything.

But back in this quiet, lonely veterinarian clinic, the clock above the reception counter was still ticking. It had small pictures of poodles on its hands, but Matt couldn’t tell by the way it slowly counted down. For the criminals that were about to join Matt in this small, clinically clean building, the ticking of the clock would soon remind them that every second counted.

His left hand sliding over the curve of the counter where he was previously reprimanded by a moody receptionist, Matt quickly found his way to the other end of the room. There were several doors. He ignored the doors that were open and quietly but effectively kicked open the only one that was locked. Judging by the echoing sound the door made as it slammed against the adjacent wall, he’d entered a large, rectangular room with walls twice his size. It smelled vaguely of dust and boxes, and every now and then his feet would find a large package. He was inside a storage room.

The intern who was busy working on her thesis in the next room heard nothing; Ariana Grande was blaring from her headphones.

Truth be told, Matt hadn’t really thought about what he’d do if he ever found the medicine. His best bet was probably showing it to the police, but then again the cops had done very little about the dognappings themselves . . .

Perhaps someone else needed. Someone with a softer touch; someone who knew about dogs and everything they needed to stay alive. But who? Clint Barton was the only person Matt knew who owned a dog who wasn’t Frank Castle, but Barton fed his dog pizza and other things dogs shouldn’t even _look_ at, so Matt’s list of potential animal-loving, pet-owning people to ask for help was rather short. Who else was left?

Matt decided he’d find an answer to that question later, if he even needed one at all. He used his gloved hands to inspect the boxes and storage units in front of him and found that most of the boxes were open and half-empty. All but one. It must be the new batch that the receptionist talked about this morning!

Large, heavy and made of thick carton, the box in front of him had been securely taped closed. A packing slip was stapled to one of its sides, and Matt tore it off and slid it into a pocket in case he needed someone to read it for him later. This _had_ to be it. It just had to. All he needed, was one sample. Just the one. He could leave the rest to the clinics’ grateful clients to pick up their prescriptions in the morning.

Opening the package itself was rather more difficult, however, and Matt was half-considering just taking the whole thing with him and potentially adding Theft to his long list of vices for his face-to-face with God when he heard the shattering of glass behind him.

Matt didn’t have long. Hiding in this storage room wasn’t an option. Neither was fighting these crooks if they had their bloodthirsty dogs with them.

God, why couldn’t he _think_?

Matt’s own heartbeat was getting muddled up with those of the criminals he was about to meet. He tried punching a hole into the box of medicine, but the thing was shut tight. Impenetrable. He’d have to leave it behind. This entire mission would have been pointless, because how was he ever going to fight those criminals with their changed dogs if he didn’t know what the hell was altering them that way?

The criminals were talking to each other. Discussing the very medicine he was standing over. Judging by the soft sound of fingers brushing metal, they had guns and knives with them.

He tried the box one more time. It was no use.

The crooks were inside now. They’d headed into the clinic via a shattered window.  The oddly-voiced guy whom Matt had tracked down thanks to a Chihuahua video was with them as well.

The strange notion that Matt could just head to the pharmaceutical company who’d made the medicine briefly entered his subconscious, but then _it_ came in the middle of a cacophony of noise and thoughts: the low, hungry growl of a dog twice his size, its heart beating so fast that one heartbeat was barely distinguishable from the next. It was the same dog he’d heard in the warehouse last night. The one who’d nearly killed Frank.

There was only thing for it tonight: leave the medicine and run like hell.

Matt tried his best to flee past the counter and head towards the open doors he’d led his hands trail past, but it was already too late. He was spotted. Men with loud, angry voices shouted after him. A gun was cocked, and he winced when a bullet tore right past him. Then another. He felt pretty sure he heard it miss his left arm. 

There was a long hallway on his left, and he entered it without thinking. By now, the poor creatures he was meant to be protecting were no longer in his thoughts. Not even the medicine he’d left behind crossed his mind. All he could think about were the gunshots and the footsteps and the poor trainee in her office and his own heart that thumped so loudly that it almost exploded when a pair of large hands pulled him into a room. A storeroom the size of a cupboard.

A door behind him was locked. He heard a second heartbeat, and a struggle started. Matt could hardly think. The storeroom was so small every sound and touch became one indiscernible blur of pain and half-assed punches.

Like a claustrophobic person stuck in a pitch black lift, he was starting to panic. Sweat. Gasp as he realised there might not be a way out of here. There was so little to hold on to and listen to that it was as if he _was_ truly blind.

He sent weak punches into his assailant’s direction, but it was no use. The other guy was too tall, too strong, and Matt was pressed firmly into a corner. He felt the cold metal of the door press into his suit. A hand was put over his mouth, and for a time Matt struggled as he continued to shout out and punch his way out of here. Then he felt something touch his stomach. Something hard. Small. A gun, no doubt. Not the soft, furry touch of a dog, but a gun.

He’d he killed here, in a — a cupboard. Left here as he bled to death. He wouldn’t even be able to have the dignity of dying underneath the heavy, stinking body of the dogs he’d worked so hard to find.

The criminals outside this door were laughing. They were taunting Matt for being so damn weak.

Perhaps Frank had been right. Perhaps Daredevil _was_ weak. Perhaps he should have followed The Punisher’s plans all along and chosen the shorter but dangerous path to this mission’s outcome, but it was too late for that now. There was no getting out of here.

He tried punching his assailant again. Kicking him. The space was so small that it felt like he was pulling his punches.

The laughter had died out.


	8. Chapter 8

He was still inside the cupboard. Fighting. Trying. Struggling.

The background noise of laughing, taunting criminals outside the door he was pressed against had long gone. He was alone. Left to his own devices.

Something about the size of his assailant’s body felt familiar, but he couldn’t figure it out. Everything here was too small and too loud and not of any use unless he really calmed down and listened, but he couldn’t.

Why couldn’t he?

Matt made a final, desperate movement to choke the other guy, but then his hands were pinned above his head, and the only thing that was comforting about this that it was The Punisher who was doing it. 

‘Frank,’ Matt gasped when the familiar scent of Frank’s cologne finally hit him. Only seconds had passed between his being pulled into the storeroom and this.

God, he’d missed him. Can you miss someone you’d only been apart from less than a day? Matt didn’t know, but it sure felt like it. He’d _missed_ Frank. So much.

‘Stop struggling, Red,’ Frank whispered with an edge. Their faces were so close that Matt felt every word against his lips. They tingled there as if their mouths were actually touching. ‘Do you _want_ those damn bastards to find us?’

He smelled good. So good. Fuck.

Slowly but surely, the sounds that Matt had tuned out in his panic were returning. They came back to him one by one as if someone was hitting switches on an audio board. Barks, chats, voices, footsteps, glass breaking and hitting the floor the robbers were standing on, and so on.

In the background, footsteps signalled the coming and going of more crooks. One of them had an ungainly step as if he had an injury to his leg. The guy Frank’s dog had bitten on the morning he was taken, perhaps. He was tearing the storage room Matt had been in apart.

A woman screamed. The lady who’d signed for the package. The trainee.

Matt wanted to open the door, help her, but he couldn’t. Frank was too strong.

‘Let — me — go.’

‘No.’

The more Matt struggled, the stronger Frank’s grip around his wrists became and the tighter he held his black-clad body against Matt’s. (Without the leather jacket, one mustn’t forget.) This wasn’t just a struggle, this was Frank wordlessly telling that he wanted Daredevil _safe_.

‘Dammit, Frank,’ Matt stammered, ‘we need to help her!’

‘I locked her up in the basement, Red. She’s safe. You think I wouldn’t protect her from those sons of bitches?’

Matt exhaled. The woman was safe. Frank was safe. He was here. Good. ‘Okay.’

‘Sorry, what was that?’

Matt cleared his throat. ‘ _Okay_ ,’ he reiterated as if he wanted to sound more confident and less like he was shaking. He drew another deep breath, and he felt his own chest touch Frank’s. They were practically one and the same person. ‘G-good job, Frank.’

‘You happy now, Red?’

‘N-not before you tell me what the hell you’re doing here, Frank,’ Matt demanded in a voice as dominant as he could muster up, but it didn’t hide the trembling of his legs when Frank whispered the answer into his helmet-covered ear.

‘Keeping you out of trouble.’

Shit, it was so, so tempting to have Daredevil here, all dressed up and pressed up against his own body and shakily breathing in and out at every word he said. It was as if they were fucking already.

Frank had often wondered what it’d be like with Matt. He’d no doubt be the blushing, shaking mess Frank had come to know after their missions and near-hand holding, but he reckoned Matt had a darker side too. A red, horny, dominant side. He must do, because Frank had seen the skirts and shirts that had been left in Matt’s apartment. He’d _seen_ the little scars on Matt’s arms that could never have been caused by a knife or gun wound, and he’d more than noticed the way that nurse looked at him last night. She’d been there already.

And honestly? Frank almost felt as though he deserved it after the shit he’d been through. The dead port worker. The chase. The cold of the water as it ran into his clothes and nearly drowned him. All he’d have to do was move just _so_ , and they’d already be more intimate than they’d ever been. If they’d been in the comforts of theirs own apartments, they might even have kissed and told each other how they felt.

As it was, they did the next thing to it.

The small, dirty window above their heads was the only source of light Frank had. Its grey, dull light fell right onto the exquisite line of Matt’s mouth, almost artistically outlining the part of his body that Frank most wanted to touch right now. (And the only part he _could_ , given the fact that Matt had his helmet still on.)

He might even be able to get away with this.

Unable to resist, Frank moved his lips to the perfect shape of Matt’s nose and elicited a perfect little gasp when he pecked Matt there.

He was going to get away with this.

Matt didn’t think having Frank’s lips touch his nose would turn him on so much. He tilted his head just right, and he actually thought he could feel Frank kiss his cheek. Then Frank moved his lips to Matt’s chin, and Matt almost thought he’d pass out from the sheer sensation of feeling Frank’s stubble against his naked skin.

It was even better than having his hand on Frank’s knee a couple of nights ago.

None of this was supposed to be happening. They were supposed to be fighting. Arguing. Not doing this, feeling Frank’s breath on his skin until it tingled and he found himself wishing he could take his helmet off.

Matt’s arms were still above his head, and not superfluously so — one bad move, and they’d give away their precious, tiny hiding place.

Frank’s heart was _racing_.

Far away, there were the sounds of big dogs patrolling the halls of the clinic. It almost sounded as if they were scanning the place like sniffer dogs on an airport. Their brand new owners were moving further away, but the threat wasn’t.

Frank watched Matt’s throat as he swallowed. ‘H-how exactly is this keeping me out of trouble?’ said Matt.

‘Because you don’t know what I do.’ Frank rasped, and his warm, ragged breath landed on Matt’s temple. He wondered if Matt would even feel it at all through his suit.

Perhaps if they kissed here, it wouldn’t count. Here, no-one would be able to tell that his stubble had brushed Daredevil’s skin. They’d see nothing at all, not even Matt’s parted lips when Frank’s almost touched his. They also wouldn’t be able to hear Matt’s stifled moan when Frank pressed his body against his a bit tighter, and Frank would never have to tell anyone about what happened after his body hit the water.

Matt could feel Frank’s entire body against his now. He could feel his in- and exhales against his own chest as a small pile of boxes toppled over at their feet.

One of the crooks heard it and headed slowly towards the door they were hidden behind, but Matt didn’t notice. He could hardly notice anything when Frank was so close and his mouth still so far away.

It was like when they were on that rooftop and Frank took Matt’s hand in his and pressed his forehead against his own to make him concentrate. Matt had wanted to kiss Frank so badly back then.

Just an inch. Just the one. It was all it’d take.

Neither of them took it.

As if snapped out of some strange hypnosis, Frank let his hands drop to his sides and pulled a small rectangular packet out of his pocket. He shoved it into Matt’s open hands, and they both knew instantly that the moment, the magic, whatever it was, was gone. Back was the competition. The arguments. The pretending that they didn’t like each other when they wanted nothing more than to get into the other.

‘Did _your_ investigating tell you that there’s a medicine that’s been turning those dogs into damn monsters, Red?’

Matt scoffed, but mainly so he wouldn’t have to voice his nervous disappointment at no longer being pressed against a door by Frank. ‘Jesus, Frank, _that’s_ your big discovery? Did you _kill_ people for this?’

Frank was silent. Reflective. So Matt had discovered the same things he had. ‘It’s not _my_ fault shitbags got hurt, Red.’

‘But you killed today? After you left?’  

Matt’s face was so solemn that Frank almost whispered his answer. ‘No.’

It was exactly a lie, but there was something else in Frank’s rasped, dry voice that made Matt pay more attention. Something had happened today; something bad and irreversibly regretful that Frank would probably not talk about even if Matt tried. Frank never _did_ much talking after missions.

Matt had tried it once, you know. He really did try to have good, reflective chats about what he and Frank had been up to after a night of baddie-chasing and rooftop fights, but generally Frank just wanted to drink coffee. He was always talking about what he thought of crime and the general population of people who committed them, but when it came to talking about the very missions he’d been on, he just didn’t enjoy it. Once a mission was over, it was over. Case closed. He’d done enough debriefing in past lives to last him another lifetime.

But this mission wasn’t over yet.

Frank was about to make a comment about the medicine he’d found in the storage room when a groan escaped his lips instead of a sentence. He effortlessly turned the groan into a cough, but Matt had already noticed. Frank was in pain.

‘Frank, your wounds from last night . . .’

‘What about them, Red?’

‘You’re supposed to be resting.’

‘I’m fine, Red.’ A lie. ‘It’s nothing. One of the dognappers kicked me in the leg on my way in.’

Another lie.

In the background, right outside their door, more footsteps passed. Men and dogs alike. They were coming closer.

‘They’re going to find us, Frank.’

Frank ignored that claim. ‘What do you know about those dog medicines?’ he said, with a tone that seemed to suggest he wanted Matt to have a proverbial look at the packet of medicines in his hands.

Matt was afraid that any movement would lead his hands towards places they shouldn’t be, so he stayed absolutely still as he led his fingers trace the outside of the packet. It didn’t feel that threatening. Only a couple of strips of pills seemed to be inside it. ‘I know that they’re in high demand,’ began Matt. ‘Effective, but dangerous. Some places are considering recalling them while some pet owners claim that it saved their pets’ lives. It might be the reason the dogs that attacked you was so . . .  unnatural.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought too.’

Matt was quiet as he opened the packet and felt his fingertips touch a single strip of small, round pills. ‘How can one medicine do so much harm, Frank?’

‘Beats me, Red. Perhaps we should, you know, have them investigated or something. That’s why we both came here, right? Get a handle on this shit?’

A smile played on Matt’s lips. Perhaps Frank was capable of doing quiet investigating after all. ‘Are you saying you didn’t come here to beat people up, Frank?’

‘Don’t get too cocky,’ said Frank, and Matt would probably have smiled for real if Frank hadn’t let out another groan. 

Matt’s hands immediately shot to the place where he assumed Frank’s biggest dog bite must be. Underneath Frank’s Punisher suit, he could feel the thick layer of bandages Claire had left there. When Matt carefully pressed his hands on the very spot, Frank inhaled sharply.

‘You’re in pain,’ Matt surmised.

‘Of course I’m in damn pain, Red. Where were you when I got patched up last night, huh?’

But that wasn’t it. Something else was up. What could possibly have hurt so much that it ached even more than a damn _dog bite_?

Matt sounded anxious when he spoke. ‘What happened today, Frank? What did you get up to?’

‘Drank coffee before I saved your sorry ass, Red.’

‘ _Frank_.’

Frank covered up another groan with a cough, but this time, Matt somehow bought it hook, line, and sinker. ‘I followed up on my leads and came here to have a look at that medicine for myself,’ he said. ‘Like you said in that kennel; no guns. No powers. All I wanted was to take a sample home with me. Perhaps even have it checked out with you. What about you, huh?’

‘Did some digging, like you,’ Matt replied. ‘I even went into a pet shop, can you believe it?’

Frank laughed, and Matt felt it against his chest. They were still standing as close as they were before Frank let go of him. ‘Still thinking about that Chihuahua, huh? You wanna go back and pet it again?’

For some reason, Matt took that as a cue to move his left hand to Frank’s side. His other hand was still clutching the medicine box, nervously so. ‘I’m not going to adopt a Chihuahua, Frank, come on . . .’ he trailed off happily, and they would probably have kissed or killed each other for real if not for the wetness Matt felt next.

He felt blood. Frank’s.

_Again_.

Men shouted and made the walls around Matt reverberate with their knocking on the door. A dog barked as it was led loose in the hallway beyond.

They’d been found out.

‘You’re bleeding,’ Matt whispered. He sounded anxious. Damn _terrified_ , because he knew what was coming and he didn’t want to go through it again. He never wanted to have to take care of Frank in his apartment ever again. He wanted Frank safe and healthy, not bleeding out in his arms.

But Frank hardly had the time to come up with a lazy excuse. Their door was being pounded on now. The door handle, turned down uselessly by someone who wanted the two vigilantes out.

They had nowhere to go. A voice was calling out to them, pleading, threatening, but Matt hardly heard it because blood was staining his hands and he didn’t know what to do with it.

‘Goddammit, Frank, you’re bleeding,’ Matt reiterated. He’d stopped whispering.

More banging on the door. It was moments away from being opened.

Their mission was compromised, and what for? Because Frank had pulled Matt into a cupboard and prevented the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen from actually doing some good? Because they were here, in this tiny space that was no bigger than Matt’s empty fridge, nearly kissing and not doing nearly enough fighting?

They were both far too gone, and the criminals far too close.

Another bang. Louder. Someone was prying the door open.

‘Frank . . . !’

‘Don’t be such a pussy, Matt, it’s just a scratch.’

Frank passed out the moment their hiding place was rudely opened.

||

Frank was no longer thinking about the port worker whose blood had painted the ground when he leapt into the water. He hardly felt the bullet graze another shoulder as he fell, and the sound of a barking dog became white noise as the water engulfed him. His body was no longer working to stay afloat, but his mind was as he tried to remember which way was up.

Usually in these types of situations, Frank’s mind would conjure up the hundreds upon thousands of things the Navy had taught him, things that would keep him alive and awake and alert, but not now. Every thought he had was dedicated to one thing only, and how useless was it that that thing was Matt Murdock?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Frank makes a shocking confession...


	9. Chapter 9

None of the things Matt thought would happen when their cupboard was opened, happened. There were no dogs or murderous criminals standing at their door, but a young woman with pigtails and mascara tears running down her rosy cheeks. In other words, the trainee vet Matt had heard falling asleep at her desk; the one Frank had saved from certain death by locking her up in the basement.

She cast the strange, unfamiliar couple in her storage room one look, then stepped aside to let them pass in their own, ungainly manner; one of the men had fainted, and he had to be carried on the other guy’s back. He looked rather hurt and broken, and under different circumstances that would have made anyone think wrongly of him.

But the trainee already knew these two weren’t the bad guys. The bad guys had long gone along with the expensive medicine they’d taken.

||

Just before he passed out, an image of his dog passed Frank by. It was no more than a flash, really, an impressionistic idea of what he last remembered his precious Rottweiler to be like, but it was enough to make Frank again question his every action on that fateful morning when he was mugged. Why did he ever decide to take the dog to such a bad part of town? Why had he not fought the criminals off? And then there were the really ridiculous questions: should he have had his dogged tagged? Did all of this not just mean that Frank was a very bad pet owner?

Perhaps he was. Normally, Frank walked his dog down the waterside, where the sun created so pleasant a glow on the water that it almost blinded them both. He walked the dog in parks. Through vibrant, aromatic city streets. Past Matt’s apartment, hoping to God that Matt would somehow sense him and invite him in, but that day Frank decided to walk his dog in the worst place there was. God knows why. All he knew was that he felt guiltier than ever when he was attacked by that hound in that warehouse and even guiltier when he found himself being picked up and slung over Daredevil’s body in his confused dreams. This was all on him. All of it.

Perhaps he _was_ just looking for trouble, like he always was. Perhaps if Frank hadn’t ended up there, he wouldn’t be here now, in this cupboard or clinic or pet shop or Matt’s bed or wherever he presently was, but he couldn’t know that. Hindsight would get him nowhere. If he analysed every single failed mission like he knew Matt did with his cases, he probably wouldn’t get much work done. He might not even be able to get any sleep, and right now Frank really, really liked to sleep; for that night, Frank slept without waking up once, and when he woke up the next morning he might even have smiled. For a brief second, it didn’t feel so bad to be alive.

He’d had dreams of him and Matt being together, and they were the strangest, most beautiful dreams he’d ever had. Matt’s hands were on his body throughout, and his dog was there as well; he featured in everything apart from the blurry, pleasant scenes when Matt and Frank were doing things that a dog should not witness.

The dreams were almost enough to make Frank feel good he was awake, but then the memories of last night and the night before came back to him, and he felt as awful as he did before collapsing. The guilt had not gone away. The ache his dog’s kidnapping had left in his heart hadn’t, either, and Frank would probably not have bothered to stay awake if it hadn’t been for Matt Murdock sitting next to him on the bed, applying bandages on the places where he’d been injured. No nurse this time. Just him and Matt, together.

Frank hated to admit it, but Matt looked beautiful in the morning.

For a moment forgetting that he was covered in cuts and wounds from the previous nights and days, Frank tried to get up and stretch, but as he did so the incessant, stinging pain came soaring back. His pain had felt _so_ far away while he was asleep in Matt’s bed. 

‘Try not to move,’ Matt ordered before cleaning some of Frank’s smaller wounds with a soft cotton pad. He must have been sitting next to Frank like this for a while, and it was only a couple of seconds after waking that Frank realised he was quite naked underneath Matt’s pristine white sheets apart from his boxers. For a brief microsecond, panic rose up in Frank’s chest at the realisation that Matt must have seen his tight black boxers, but then he exhaled in relief when he remembered that Matt was still very, very blind. Crisis averted.

Frank cleared his throat self-consciously. The logical first thing would be to ask what had happened, but Frank’s mind didn’t work that way. ‘What did you do to my suit, Red?’ he asked, his voice a bad attempt at feigning dominance even though he was very much half-naked in someone else’s bed.

‘It’s in the washing machine.’

‘And my jacket? I think I left it here by accident,’ Frank lied.

Frank thought he saw Matt blush a little at the mention of his leather jacket, but it could also have been a trick of the light. ‘Also in the washing machine,’ said Matt, before accidentally squirting an abundant amount of disinfectant on his cotton pad.

‘Right,’ Frank said slowly. He’d never really considered washing his Punisher outfit before. He was rather proud of what it had looked like before, all dirty and bloodied. It was proof that he’d actually gotten work done in this hellhole, whereas Daredevil’s usually looked as pristine as it did before he got into a fight. What was there to be proud of?

But it didn’t matter now. His suit would be stained with the blood of the people he was after soon enough. He’d make sure of it.

Frank looked round him and saw that he was in Matt’s bedroom. It looked cleaner than the last time he was there, when he went and borrowed a shirt he’d found on a shelf or cupboard. If Frank didn’t know better, he’d almost think Matt had gone through the effort of cleaning his all shit for him apart from the bedside table that was cluttered with a pile of bandages, plasters, disinfectant and painkillers.

‘What happened last night, Red? I remember knocking, and then . . .’ Frank trailed off, unable to recall what had happened next. All he remembered was going to the port, being shot at, heading to the clinic at night, and then somehow waking up in Matt’s bed feeling marginally more rested than he thought he should. It must be those soft, clean sheets that covered his legs. Frank almost thought he could smell Matt on them, but then he remembered the smell of his dog after a rainy day, and the strange sadness he’d tried so hard to supress came back. He really wished he had his dog with him.

‘You tell me, Frank,’ said Matt vaguely, and he elicited an _ow_ from Frank when he accidentally pressed the cotton pad against a fresh wound too firmly. ‘These wounds definitely weren’t here when you came here last.’

Frank scoffed. An amused edge had begun to colour his voice. ‘Like you can tell.’

Matt pricked another one of Frank’s gunshot wounds, deliberately this time. ‘That doesn’t _feel_ like a dog bite, Frank. I thought you said you hadn’t killed anyone yesterday.’

‘I was speaking the truth. You know damn well I was, Red,’ Frank added with an edge before Matt stubbornly proceeded to take care of the remainder of Frank’s injuries without another word. He’d done this before, of course – only a night ago in fact, before realising that he was way out of his depth and needed the gentle, expert touch of a nurse like Claire Temple – but this was different. Frank was in his bed this time, and Frank’s oddly calm heartbeat almost seemed to suggest that he wasn’t planning on leaving his house early again.

And he wasn’t, you know. Frank wasn’t planning on leaving at all. He’d seen and felt enough in between hitting the water and coming here to know that this was exactly the place he needed to be right now. He could leave later, after he and Matt had another argument about the rights and wrongs of their mission and Matt had scolded him for taking too many risks at the port. But right now, with Matt’s soft, soft hands on his bruised and irreparable body, he might even feel close to confusingly understanding why he liked the attorney so much.

‘I swear to you, Red, I didn’t kill yesterday,’ Frank reiterated after Matt’s silence had gone on too long. ‘Some bad shit happened, that’s all.’

‘Then tell me.’

Frank’s skin seemed to flare up slightly at that. ‘Why?’

‘Because I think we work better together when we don’t lie to each other,’ Matt said flatly. He sent another flush of pain through Frank’s skin when he dabbed a third wound, and mumbled an embarrassed apology. ‘Show me your left arm.’

Frank did as he was told and flinched when Matt’s fingers touched a big bruise on his hand. He hadn’t even noticed it himself, and Frank had to curse himself for how disturbingly much he liked the look of it.

‘I think your hand may be broken,’ Matt said as he softly ran his fingers over Frank’s open palm. It would probably have felt quite nice if it didn’t hurt so much. ‘I’ll call Claire to have it checked out, but she’ll want to know how it happened.’

Frank shrugged. ‘I fell.’

‘God, Frank, you think I’ve never used that excuse myself? Other arm.’

Frank showed Matt his right arm, but not without taking the liberty to curiously look Matt up and down. ‘Did _you_ take my pants off?’

The blush that spread over Matt’s cheeks didn’t stop him from giving Frank’s other arm the same inspection with his fingers. God, Frank loved having that effect on him. It was as if he was back in school, hitting on the shyest person in his class and getting off on how powerful it was to make another kid blush. ‘I had to,’ said Matt, ‘they were covered in blood. You said you fell?’

‘Yeah, fell on the ground. Think someone must’ve tripped me over,’ the patient lied lazily.

Frank could see Matt’s next words burst out of him because he was suddenly overcome with anger. ‘Dammit, Frank, do you _want_ us to argue again? You know keeping things away from me won’t help us get your dog back.’

Frank let out a demonstrative sigh. He hadn’t planned on telling Matt what had happened yesterday, but you know what, he was asking for it now. If this is the truth Murdock wanted to hear, he’d damn well tell him. ‘You really want to know what happened, huh?’ he implored, his rough voice belying how nervous he was about the things he was about to admit. ‘You _really_ want me to tell you?’

‘Yes, Frank.’

‘It’s gonna be a long story, you know.’

‘I don’t _care_ , Frank.’

‘You’re gonna regret it,’ Frank warned finally.

‘I won’t.’

Silence.

‘Okay. Fine. Whatever, Red.’

Frank sat up straight as if physically preparing himself for the words that were about to leave his mouth, then started. As he spoke, he did so with a slight tremble that caught Matt slightly off guard. At first, what Frank was telling him didn’t seem related to their case at all: ‘When I was a kid, I had this puppy, you know, this cute little dog with, I don’t know, bad hearing and this — this injured right paw, and I really thought she was stupid, you know. Everyone else I knew had these big Pitbulls and beautiful Labradors, and we were stuck with this puppy that no-one else wanted. Used to walk her round the block every day and play with her, but it wasn’t the same. I wasn’t cool, Red. Everyone used to make fun of me, you know.’  

Matt smiled inwardly at the image of a young Frank Castle wanting to fit in. Frank rarely ever told him stories of his past; they weren’t necessary, according to him. What you see is what you get, and what Frank got up to when he was eleven or twenty or whatever was no longer relevant or even up for discussion. But clearly this story was.

Frank went on hesitatingly, ‘Then we lost her, Red. Ran out of the back door of the house or something. And that’s when I realised how much I loved that dog, Red. I missed her so much, and I — I thought, you know, I’m this small kid with no, no pals or anything — how was I supposed to live without her? How the fuck am I meant to do this?’

Frank took a deep breath to calm himself and found Matt staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. He must have known what was coming. ‘The same thing happened yesterday, Red. I nearly lost everything, and it made me realise how much I would miss certain things if I went. You ever been through that, Red? You ever lost something?’ he asked, his voice as rough as ever because it was the only thing that could hide how truly changed he was feeling. ‘I mean, hell, Red, I’ve been there before, but this was something else.’

Matt nodded. He’d been there too. So many times. Each time it happened again, he went through another brand new cycle of seeing life and love in a different way. The last time _he_ thought he’d die, he suddenly found himself appreciating the way the leaves of trees rustled as the wind blew through them. For Frank, the same thing must have happened. Their jobs going hand in hand with life and death didn’t negate the enormity of either.

‘You almost died,’ Matt surmised softly. His hand was still on Frank’s arm, touching one of the gunshot wounds from whatever Frank had been through recently. It almost seemed to have changed since Matt had last touched it. Like it held more meaning, somehow. ‘What happened, Frank?’

In a rare show of emotion that was brought on by the gentleness of Matt’s touch – and perhaps the sheer numbing effect of the painkillers he didn’t remember taking –, Frank told Matt everything: going back to the warehouse at night to look for leads; heading to the port and finding a friend of one of the criminals there; the port worker being shot and killed, and then finding himself chased by dogs and their captors until he too was shot and fell to the ground, helpless and injured.

‘What did you do?’ asked Matt, hanging on to Frank’s every word. His fingers touched a rough piece of skin on Frank’s body – a scar from a previous battle, Matt assumed – and he absently rubbed circles round and round it as if trying to magic every single one of Frank’s old wounds away. To Frank, it felt like electricity.

‘Did what I had to do,’ said Frank. ‘I leapt into the water. And —’ At this, Frank laughed as if someone had made an inside joke only he understood, and went on slightly irritatedly: ‘And do you know what’s really fucking useful, Red?’

‘What?’

Frank swallowed. His heart rate had gone slightly up; a sign he was about to say something very personal, perhaps. Under different circumstances, Matt might have stopped him, but he couldn’t now, not when Frank’s skin felt so hot and _he_ felt so terribly curious.

‘I could only think of you,’ Frank admitted almost resentfully, and for emphasis he placed his hand on Matt’s chest, where the attorney’s racing heart was. ‘I was — I was damn drowning, you know, shot to pieces, and all I could see was you.’ He paused to shake his head and laugh quietly to himself. He could hardly believe what had happened back there himself. ‘How damn useless is that, huh, Red? How _useless_ is that?’

It was a brusque, bitter admission, one that Frank would normally never have admitted because of how silly and childlike it was, but that wasn’t stopping him now. He needed the words to be out there, even if he’d made it sound as if he was blaming Matt.

Perhaps if he gave his words a negative and confrontational spin things wouldn't feel as real, but these were the realest words Frank had said for a long time: Frank hadn’t stopped thinking about Matt since that morning, period. There wasn’t an easier, less embarrassing way of putting it. All it took was he feeling of cold, dirty water running into his mouth and lungs, and he knew instantly that Matt Murdock was the one thing he’d miss most when he died.

(Okay, perhaps that was pushing it a little bit, but Frank really would miss Matt an awful lot.)

(More than coffee, definitely.)

(Or at least on the same _level_ as coffee.)

.

.

(. . . maybe a little less.)

For Matt, knowing how Frank felt about him almost made him feel dirty, like he was some secret, hidden voyeur looking into the deepest of Frank’s thoughts. It was something he was not supposed to know.

But now that he did, what the hell was he supposed to do about it? 


	10. Chapter 10

A bird twittered happily outside Matt’s bedroom window. A siren sounded. Early birds dressed in suits and business uniforms walked the pavement on their way to bus stops and train stations. The faint scent of cigarettes from a neighbour’s balcony tickled Frank’s nose as he waited for Matt to respond to his uncharacteristic but flawed confession. One of the wounds on his hand had started hurting like a throbbing headache again; a sign that he ought to go back to bed again? His other hand was still on Matt’s chest, fingering the material of the attorney’s shirt as if he was secretly considering taking it off of him.

He should take it off of him.

But shit, he didn’t even know what time it was. Early, judging by the abundance of light in this already dark bedroom, but not early enough for birds to come out and be the background music of their conversation.

Frank could hardly remember why they were having this conversation at all. Perhaps he just wanted to see Matt blush again. Perhaps he wanted to blame Matt for making him feel the way he did and make him pay for the kaleidoscope of confusing feelings and experiences he’d gone through.

It was always much easier that way, to think negatively of the person you have feelings for. It’s _their_ fault you cannot concentrate at work and _their_ touches that make you lose focus. It’s not about you, it’s them. Always them. _Matt_ was the problem — except he wasn’t. Matt was as much a part of the problem as Frank was. Matt was a bit shy and stubborn and most of all completely unable to talk about his feelings so candidly, so how the hell was he supposed to react to this confession?

Matt knew that Frank loved him, and likewise Frank knew that Matt did too, but to put it so bluntly like this was quite the bombshell. To think that Frank must have thought about nothing else but him – _him!_ – in that cold, polluted water was almost one step too far, like the leather jacket that was still draped over the armrest of Matt’s sofa. To put it _on_ was something else entirely.

Frank knew that all too well.

‘What do you want me to say, Frank?’ Matt whispered as if not even the singing birds outside his window were allowed to listen to what he was saying. He sounded a little uncertain, and a red glow had crept all over his cheeks. He must have been quite taken aback by Frank’s statement. ‘Do you want me to apologise?’

Frank’s answer was an honest one. ‘You don’t have to say anything, Red,’ he said, meaning it. He wasn’t expecting anything of Matt at all. Nothing at all. ‘I’m just being honest. And saying that you’re a fucking pain in the ass,’ he added to take the edge off.

They both chuckled, but not because they found it funny, but because they were both feeling so very strange. Another intimate moment had passed, and yet nothing had happened at all. ‘I can’t help what your mind comes up with, Frank. You know I can’t,’ Matt said softly, thinking about the times when Frank had entered _his_ mind at the most inconvenient of times. He always had to try so hard to get him out of there. Sometimes, Matt wished he would hardly think of Frank at all.

But it doesn’t work like that, does it?

‘Guess not, Red,’ said Frank matter-of-factly, and he removed his hand from Matt’s chest as though putting an end to this part of their conversation. They were no longer discussing it. It was, indeed, a subject for another time.

In fact, it was almost as if the conversation had never happened at all, and so Matt lamely ended up asking Frank what he got up to after he’d fallen into the water.

‘Managed to pull myself back up, I guess,’ was the short answer. No elaboration this time; just the facts. No feelings. ‘Then, you know, I went home and met you at the vet.’

‘But you were _hurt_ , Frank,’ Matt noted. He had gone on to rub his hair in a puzzled manner. ‘You were injured.’

‘And what were you gonna do about it? I mean, no offence, Red, but you’re not your friend from the hospital.’

‘I mean, I could’ve taken care of you. _Helped_ you,’ Matt added when he realised how silly that sounded. Frank Castle could more than take care of himself.

‘Would you really, Matt? After the argument we’d had?’

Matt laughed self-consciously. Frank was right, he would never have helped Frank after he walked out on him like that. He didn’t need Frank Castle, he told himself when he paid the pet shop a visit on the morning after their argument. He didn’t require the assistance of someone like The Punisher, he privately thought when he kicked the window of the veterinary clinic in. He could do it all on his own.

And truth be told, Matt had been enjoying the smugness he felt each time he came closer to the truth on his own far too much to even consider checking in on Frank. He didn’t even listen to Frank’s heartbeat like he used to each morning. He didn’t have to.

Had they not walked into each other at the vet last night, Matt would have looked and investigated on his own until he solved the case and returned the dogs to their respective owners himself. That would teach Frank, he thought. Frank would come running back to him then. But Frank never did, and never would. 

Maybe the one thing that Matt had learned from this case thus far was that he and Frank had more in common than he thought, more than just scars and fighting, and their strange, shared love for strong coffee made by better baristas than themselves. Frank wasn’t the only one who’d let his ego dictate how to go about this mission.

‘You’re right, I wouldn’t have,’ Matt admitted. ‘Would you?’

‘Not in a million years, Red.’

In the conversation’s pause, the birds had left Matt’s window. The scent of cigarettes was no longer in the room, and earthy fresh air made the hairs on Frank’s arms stand on end. A new day had come.  

‘Let’s talk about something else, huh?’ Matt suggested. ‘Stop . . . discussing this case, for now.’

Frank shrugged. ‘All right. What’d you wanna talk about, Red?’

In his keenness to change the subject, Matt hadn’t thought about what he and Frank might talk about. Usually, they talked about their missions or the kinds of criminals they both despised under the watchful eye of two half-full cups of coffee – with Matt doing most of the talking, of course – but even Matt didn’t want to discuss the missing dog case right now. He wanted to have a conversation any other couple might; have a chat about the weather, food, pets, music, the current state of the economy or anything else that wouldn’t lead to an angry walk-out.

Any sighted person might have looked around Matt’s bedroom in search for a suitable topic of conversation, but naturally Matt didn’t have that liberty, so he mentioned the first thing that crossed his mind. Fortunately, it was one that would keep them talking until the early hours of the next day. ‘Tell me about your scars, Frank.’

Frank huffed. ‘My scars?’

‘Yes, Frank. Your scars.’

Frank didn’t think Matt was being serious, but then he saw the look on the attorney’s face. He wanted to know about his scars. That was a new one.

‘Which ones?’

‘This one,’ said Matt, and he innocently rested his fingers on one of the scars on Frank’s arms without really thinking about the effect it might have.

‘It’s not a very interesting story,’ was Frank’s reply, with an audible edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. It must have been the softness of Matt’s touch against his own, damaged skin; it felt different now that Matt’s hands weren’t on him because of how much he absolutely _had_ to take care of it, but because of a genuine, deeply rooted interest in what had made Frank who and what he was. His scars held a story that Frank never told.

Matt knew, because his own body was like that too: marked, broken. Changed beyond recognition after all the things he’d been through.

Before he became Daredevil, Matt’s body was soft, unmarked, and relatively well looked after. He couldn’t tell, but he knew he looked good. His lovers liked his body. But then the knives and fights and broken windows came, and his body changed along with his personality. As he became tougher and harder in his own head, so did his appearance. He even had to start telling the people around him that he’d fallen off some stairs or walked into a closet, but it did not stop the bruises from being there. It didn’t magically wipe the brand new scars away.

And part of Matt liked it. He’d gotten a scar from a battle, so he must’ve done something right. He had lived to see another day.

Matt wasn’t stupid, though. He knew that others might not see it like him. Sometimes, his scars turned lovers off. Some lovers had even left him altogether because who could trust a man who had wounds he wouldn’t explain?  

Perhaps, indeed, all that Matt needed was someone who knew what having a changed body felt like.

Frank did not say any more for a few moments, then spoke again. When he did, he almost sounded proud. ‘Got it a couple of months ago. Knife wound.’

Matt had been through those too. ‘I bet that hurt.’

‘ _Hah_. You shoulda seen the other guy.’

‘What did you do to him?’

‘Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Red,’ said Frank, as if that explained everything.

Although Matt could guess what Frank meant by that, Matt did not have the audacity to question him further. He slowly traced his finger along the rough line of Frank’s upper arm until he reached a scar on his shoulder blade, and he could tell by its size and shape that it was one from a gunshot wound; one Matt himself was present for himself, if he recalled correctly. It was during one of their very first missions, and as per usual, things went terribly wrong when Frank stubbornly decided to do whatever Matt didn’t want him to do and got caught up in the line of fire. Matt had to stop himself from saying ‘I told you so’ when he listened to the strained sounds of Frank taking care of his own wound on some park bench an hour later.

Not needing Frank to explain its origins, Matt skipped said scar and daringly moved his hands to Frank’s naked chest instead. The bandages from a couple of nights ago were still there, including the ones a then very anxious Matt had tried putting there. To think that said wound had inadvertently been caused by Frank’s love for his dog, was strange. On one hand it showed that Frank was capable of loving someone, on the other hand it showed that his love was reckless. It got him into danger and gave him terrible injuries that other people had died of. Was that dog really worth that much?

But it was even stranger to touch Frank on that damaged piece of skin now, tracing his fingers past stitches and bandages that he knew held so much history. Matt almost wished he could wipe every single one of them away, wipe Frank clean of the pain and ache and agonizing memories that they both shared and didn’t want to be reminded of, but then what would they still have in common? No, he rather liked Frank like this, with his scars and personal stories that were etched into his body, and with each piece of skin that he touched, the better it felt. It was as if Matt was charging them both; electrifying Frank with tiny, titillating pinpricks of touch until he nearly felt he could bear it no more.

Matt’s hand rested on Frank’s hard abdomen, and it was as if something in Frank short-circuited. He _liked_ this.

‘What about these?’ asked Matt, who’d found a set of small scars on Frank’s sides. He was too lost in the gentle curve of Frank’s body to notice that Frank’s heartbeat had sped up considerably.

A beat. ‘You’re not gonna like the answer.’

‘And why’s that?’

Frank chuckled. He almost sounded shy when he did it — if Frank Castle _did_ shyness. ‘Because I didn’t get them on a mission, Red. You know?’

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Frank meant by that, and instead of removing his hands like Frank thought he would, Matt only pressed his fingers into Frank’s sides a bit firmer to try it out.

Yes, he could see what Frank was talking about now.

‘She must’ve been very angry with you,’ said Matt.

‘He was.’

The words were so suggestive that Matt couldn’t help but notice that something in the way they were talking to each other had changed. Their words were gentler, more intimate. A clear, tangible change in mood had obviously taken place; a sudden rise in temperature on a cold winter day, as it were.

Who in their right mind would _not_ take advantage of that?

Frank was going to take advantage of it.

‘Take your shirt off, Murdock,’ he ordered huskily. He did it with such decision and determination that Matt looked quite taken aback when he found his voice again.

‘Why, Frank?’

‘So I can have a look at your scars, Red. Why else?’ A pause; a deliberate moment for Matt to think about what Frank was asking of him. ‘Or are you some kinda prude now?’

Matt’s next words were delicately cautious. ‘You know I’m not.’

‘Then what are you waiting for?’

Matt almost opened his mouth to ask Frank what _exactly_ was on his mind when he almost died yesterday, but then he remembered they weren’t supposed to discuss it. Perhaps touching each other’s bodies was the next thing to it. Look and touch, but don’t talk.

‘Okay,’ Matt reluctantly agreed, ‘but you’ll do it with your eyes closed. No _cheating_ , Frank,’ he added like a veritable schoolteacher when Frank uttered an almost adorable petulant sound of disagreement.

‘How will you tell?’

‘I will, Frank, believe me.’

Frank’s mouth spread into a rare grin. ‘Whatever you want, Red.’

And so, Matt inhaled sharply when Frank moved his bruised, calloused hands to Matt’s collar and began unbuttoning his white dress shirt button by button, inch by inch. Frank did so with extreme care that Matt hadn’t necessarily expected of him, like he was perfectly aware every wrong touch or accidental graze might cause their bodies to melt. One traced finger along an out-of-bounds curve or sensitive little spot, and their minds would erase the last traces of self-control they’d worked _so_ very hard to contain.

But that didn’t stop them from wanting it. They wanted this very much indeed.

Another button, and another piece of self-control disappeared.

A third button, yet another.

A fourth button was carefully loosened, and Matt felt his chest being exposed. A cool chill ran over his neck, but it was nothing compared to when Frank touched him there with the tips of his fingers.

‘What’s this here?’

‘It’s just a mole.’

‘And this?’ Frank asked when he circled his fingers around a scar just below Matt’s collarbone.

‘Knife wound. Katana, actually,’ Matt gasped, his voice sounding increasingly unsteady as Frank moved on to the next button. He never thought Frank’s hands could feel this hot and cold at the same time. ‘I – I wouldn’t recommend it.’

Button five. More skin. More reasons to make a move.

A sixth button was popped, and Matt’s chest rose in a deep inhale as his shirt fell open and exposed every single piece of him. Every scar. Every blemish on his complexion that he knew to be there. Every muscle and tight, tight curve that would drive any lover, blind or sighted, absolutely wild. All of it.

Another breeze ran over Matt’s naked upper body, but he hardly felt it because of how close Frank was.  Everything felt different now that Frank was there with him and they were both as awake as they could be.

‘What about this one?’ said Frank, and he went on to move one daring hand to Matt’s back and run his fingers down his spine until a guilty trail of goosebumps appeared there. His other hand was close to Matt’s, edging closer and closer until they were almost touching like when they were on that dreary rooftop almost a lifetime ago. A lot of things felt that long ago now.

‘T-there aren’t any scars there. I think.’

‘No? Then what about . . .’ Frank trailed off before moving his hand slowly, slowly, slowly down until his fingers nearly could slip underneath the hem of Matt’s trousers. ‘What about here, Red? Huh?’

‘I . . .’

Frank sounded close. So close that his breath was palpable against Matt’s cheek and Matt could hear the quickly blinking of his eyes. ‘You got any scars here yet? Cos you should, you know. Right here.’

Matt laughed nervously when Frank pecked his neck softly enough not to be accused of having kissed him. ‘Frank . . .’

They’d probably get away with it if they fucked right now, they both thought. They could do it here, on the bed, as birds flew to and fro Matt’s bedroom window and people outside lived their miserable lives and went to their miserable jobs while amazing, life-changing, dirty sex took place here. It wouldn’t even have to be quick; it could be slow too, like Matt’s calm breathing or the gentle rubbing of Frank’s hands on the small of his back.

‘What?’

They both wanted it. Deserved it. They were already naked enough to do it, too, but how would they ever know when the time was right?

‘You said you wouldn’t look, Frank . . .’

‘You knew I was lying, Red,’ said Frank, and he moved his hands as low as Matt allowed him until the telephone rang.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the calm before the storm of chapter twelve. Stick with it. It’s worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking such a long time to update. Real life has really gotten in the way of my creativity lately, but I hope I'll be able to write more once the school year is over.

When Matt returned from his living room fifteen long, torturous minutes later, there was a grave expression on his face that hadn’t been there when he and Frank were in the middle of quietly investigating each other’s bodies. It was different, harder. The flush that had only recently coloured his cheeks was gone, and he sounded very serious when he spoke next. This wasn’t a man who was about to confess his feelings to someone.

Something important must have come to light in that phone call, Frank thought. He had only heard parts of the conversation because he was barely listening – and half sleeping –, but he thought he could hear the name of a pharmaceutical company being mentioned. It was not one he particularly knew anything about.

‘I just had a call about those meds we took from the vet last night,’ Matt softly explained as he delicately seated himself on the edge of the bed Frank was currently vacating with his large, wounded body. They were sitting an arm’s length away from each other now; further away than they had been all morning. It was a sign that things had to become serious again. ‘They’re made and distributed by a pharmaceutical company based in Hell’s Kitchen,’ Matt went on. ‘The person I spoke to on the phone said they’re pretty legit — no issues, no lawsuits, nothing. The perfect company.’

Frank, who may or may not have almost dozed off for a bit while Matt was on the phone, stretched and wiped the last of the sleep from his eyes. His body still ached as he did so, but less than before. ‘Who told you this?’

‘A source of mine,’ Matt said to come across intelligently. He was actually talking about the shop assistant he’d met on his own little adventure to a pet shop.

Frank made an impressed sound. ‘So how come a company like that ends up making dodgy animal medicine? Do you think it’s deliberate? A quick way to earn money or something?’

‘I don’t know, Frank. I don’t know,’ Matt reiterated, and he ran his hands through his hair in a frustrated manner that almost made him look cute. ‘What if it’s a — a distraction? What if it’s not worth looking into?’

‘You said yourself we need to stop focussing on the bastards who took those dogs.’

‘What if I’m wrong?’

‘Can’t be worse than ending up in a pool of blood on a warehouse floor.’

In the long but welcome silence that followed, Matt and Frank again had the time to reflect on what they were up against. What _were_ they up against? Dognappers and their changed dogs or, indeed, a larger presence on the playing field? It could very well be that this was a problem that was much larger than them; a problem that went far beyond poor dogs in kennels and that they’d one day have to face head-on without the distractions of touches and gentle kisses on necks.

Oh, how they both wished Matt’s mobile phone hadn’t rung and burst their bubble. If they hadn’t been distracted, they might not even be on the bed anymore, but on the floor, doing every single thing they’d ever wanted to do to each other. But no matter how much touching they did, it would never quite erase the memory of the dognappings and what had followed.

Frank still needed his dog.

‘What do we do, Red?’ It wasn’t a question, but a statement: _Whatever you do, I’m in. Let’s show those sons of bitches what we’re made of._ Clearly their pleasant morning of touching and talking had come to an end. There would be no more touching today.

Matt laughed. ‘Am _I_ calling the shots now?’

‘Whatever you’ve been doing these past few days, it’s done a pretty good job at keeping you unscathed, so yeah. It’s your call, Red.’

Matt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Were he and Frank about to work like a team for the first time? Were they finally going to find a way of combining their different work styles instead of disagreeing about them? This was a momentous occasion!

‘We . . . head to the pharmaceutical company,’ said Matt, who’d only just come up with the idea on the spot. ‘We gather as much information as we can, and leave. No-one gets hurt. If we can’t fight those dognappers, we should find out as much as we can about what’s changing the animals they took. Prepare ourselves for the next showdown.’

‘We’re going in suited up?’

‘No,’ Matt slowly continued as another brilliant but potentially disastrous idea came to him, ‘we go in undercover.’

If Frank was impressed, he was doing a very good job not making it obvious. ‘And do what? Pretend we work there?’

‘Exactly.’

The idea seemed to amuse Frank. He thought it over slowly and then answered. ‘Not saying it’s a bad idea, Red, but we might attract attention to ourselves,’ he said, referring, of course, to Matt’s blindness. He’d never seen a blind man work with medicine before.

Matt laughed and gingerly put his hand on Frank’s. ‘That’s the idea.’

||

The animal health company that Frank and Matt were about visit was the largest and most profitable in town. Its revenue was so stratospherically high that they could afford the most state-of-the-art equipment only several years into its existence.

Counting so many floors that one’s ears would pop when taking the elevator to the top floor, the impressive, streamlined office towered over almost everything in the near vicinity. It was, therefore, strange that Frank had never really noticed it before; he’d seen the building in the corner of his eyes, of course, but he never thought he’d one day be walking its smooth, shimmering floors in the reception area in pursuit of the truth. It was worlds away from the dirty alleyways, warehouses and city ports he’d thus far traversed on this mission.

The large reception area on the ground floor of the building was the stereotypical image of a busy, successful medical company. Posters of smiling men and women with their brushed, glossy cats, dogs, and hamsters adorned the marble walls; beyond, people in lab coats walked in and out of revolving swing gates made of glass that visitors weren’t allowed to go through; pet owners and potential business partners were kept entertained with animal magazines and televisions in the visitor lounge; ladies at sleek, hyper-stylised reception counters typed in the names and appointments of the people at the other sides of their desks. In the air, there was a clinically clean smell like that in a hospital. It made Matt’s nose itch.

This was clearly a company that wanted to be taken seriously, and _was_ ; how terrifying dogs and hardened criminals fitted into this wholesome picture was hard to tell. Could it be that the two were indeed not related, or were the pretty posters and lab coats just a façade for what was truly going on?

After Frank and Matt had entered the entrance’s revolving doors as casually – and for Matt, as painlessly – as possible and gone their separate ways, their plan proceeded incredibly smoothly. This time, they weren’t going to punch their way inside; instead, they were going to do it the clever, subtle way — or, put differently, the way that involved as little arguments as possible.

Today, Frank was in charge of Disguises. Matt? Getting them beyond the revolving swing gates. Once again equipped with his glasses and cane, Matt soon caught the voice of an office employee he thought would be perfect for what he was planning. She was discussing the broken copy machine on the fifth floor, and something small was dangling from her neck. A keycard. Without it, they’d never be able to go anywhere in this building. In her hands, she was carrying a thick pile of papers or dossiers that her nails kept scraping against.

Matt turned, and he accidentally bumped into her! The employee let out a yelp as her papers fell to the floor. Her colleague helped her pick up the papers while Matt apologized profusely for being such a klutz, but the damage had already been done: he quickly slipped the woman’s keycard into his pocket and apologised again and again until the woman sauntered off in an angry, unprofessional fashion. Matt had already disappeared before anyone could see him straighten his tie and dump his cane into a plant pot.

The rest was child’s play. Frank discreetly hopped into an office or laundry room, and before two employees could notice that their brand new lab coats had been stolen, the culprit had long disappeared. No one would ever notice that Frank and Matt had stolen them and put them on, and no one would find the keycard in Matt’s pocket either. This was destined to be a good, clean mission.

At least, that was the idea.

Regardless, our two questionable heroes were determined to make things work out after the pleasant, inspiring morning they’d had. They _would_ enter the labs and offices and find out what was changing the dogs today — but then they hit a snag when their stolen keycard didn’t work.

‘Try it again, Matt.’

Matt did so – a little awkwardly perhaps because he couldn’t see the card scanner to his right –, and they were welcomed by a low, disappointed _bleep_ from the glass gate they were up against. It separated the communal area from the labs and offices they so desperately needed to break into. Behind them, a considerable queue of other people in lab coats had gathered because the only other gate had a ‘malfunctioned’ sign taped to it.

‘Are you doing it right?’

Another swipe. Another _bleep_. Nothing.

Behind them, the crowd that had gathered in front of the sole security gate was growing larger and larger. A young man with glasses and a dirty lab coat was already starting to threaten that he would call security, and the whirring, groaning machinery in the revolving swing gate seemed to suggest that it wasn’t planning on opening anytime soon. It was rather ironic that the only thing keeping them from continuing their mission was an object and not, in fact, a man with a gun.

‘Are you sure you stole the right card, Red?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Matt hissed.

‘Let me try, then,’ said Frank, and he made a movement to snatch the keycard from Matt’s hands when the gate finally gave an affirmative _bleep_. It swung slowly open with a bit of an effort and allowed the two entrance as if it had a mind of its own.

Frank and Matt quickly pushed their way through it without attracting more attention to themselves, and a whole new world that was both as bright and as loud as one would expect from such a large company opened up before them. All it took was the swiping of that one keycard, and they found themselves in the middle of a cauldron of activity.

Here, almost everyone wore lab coats, and those who did not were busy typing away in their little glass offices. On the walls, there were yet more posters of happy, smiling pet owners and their animals, and everywhere you looked there were rooms and offices and elevators that could take you as far as the twentieth floor. Everything was as clean and organised as it should be, but actual animal medicine was nowhere to be seen. It must be stored away somewhere, kept in a room or cold storage until it found its way into the hands of pet owners and shop assistants like the one Matt met only recently.

Once Frank and Matt had let the disgruntled employees behind them pass, Frank gave Matt a meaningful touch of his hand. A lot of those kinds of touches had taken place recently. ‘What’s next?’

‘We walk around and see what we can find out.’

‘What if people start asking questions?’ Frank said. He hadn’t bothered to question Matt’s coming here, but he stuck out like a sore thumb — lab coat or not.

‘We say we’re researching the effects of certain medicine on guide dogs. I don’t know, Frank,’ Matt added when Frank gave an unimpressed grunt. ‘I haven’t thought about it. Just try to look intelligent. And don’t piss anyone off.’

They _really_ hadn’t thought this through, you know. Once they’d decided to go in undercover, the boys quickly got dressed (together), had a half-assed breakfast of cereal and cheese sandwiches in Matt’s kitchen, and left at a quarter to eight: the perfect time to blend into the morning rush hour at the animal health company. They deliberately hadn’t discussed what they might do once they got in because they’d only end up disagreeing anyway. Perhaps if they went in knowing and needing nothing, they’d discover everything.

‘Where are we now, Frank?’

‘Big room,’ Frank explained vaguely after they’d been walking around for a bit. They hadn’t seen or heard anything out of the ordinary yet, which was rather worrying considering that they were here to find out more about a dangerous criminal plot. ‘A lunch space, I think. Lots of sofas. There are some laboratories on our left. You can look right into them.’

‘Anything suspicious?’

Frank cleared his throat. ‘Only that people are starting to stare at us,’ he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially. ‘I think we’re the only ones here not walking around with damn notepads in our hands.’

‘Ah. Are they security?’

‘I don’t think so. Just keep walking,’ Frank said a little worriedly, and he put his hand on the small of Matt’s back and gently shepherded him away from the lunch lounge. All the while, his eyes were devouring the scene, trying to see and spot everything he could but not quite managing it. There was too much going on for that.

Predictably, the touch of Frank’s hand did everything it wasn’t supposed to do: instead of making Matt feel at ease in this too-large building with its terrible, hospital-like scent, it put every single one of Matt’s senses on high alert as if they were in trouble. Suddenly, he could distinguish between the voices he was hearing and everything else in between — including the walkie-talkies of two security guards.

They’d been spotted.

‘There’s security nearby, Frank. Two of them. Can you see them?’

Frank looked round him as casually as possible and found two large men in uniform staring right back at him. ‘Shit. Yeah. What do we do?’

‘Can we head to the next floor?’

‘It’s not gonna be easy,’ Frank groaned before quickly picking up the pace, and Matt could hardly keep up as they took a sharp right turn. He’d already lost sense of where they were. Still on the ground floor, but _where_?

Another strong, incessant waft of cleanliness and disinfectant hit them. They were nearing the labs now: clean, minimalistic. Filled with chatting men and women in lab coats. On a workbench, Frank could see a puppy with a shiny nose and a wagging tail being administered a small dose of medicine. It looked harmless. Too harmless.

The dog disappeared into the corner of his eye. They were still being followed. The static in the security guards’ earpieces was getting louder. A third guard, one Frank hadn’t spotted, stepped out of an elevator in front of them. They were being driven into a corner.

There was only one thing for it. 

They surrendered, simple as that. They didn’t make a run for it or bravely tore open their strangers’ lab coats to display their imposing super suits (which they hadn’t even put on because Frank’s was still in the washing machine); no, they gave up entirely. There was nothing else to be done. This was the end of the line for the both of them.

‘Throw that keycard on the floor,’ barked one of the security guards. ‘ _Now_.’

Matt obediently did as he was told and raised his hands up in surrender, and the only thing Frank could do was follow suit. It went against everything he had ever been trained for and then some, but he did it anyway. He was giving up.

Things went very quickly after that. Before he knew it, Frank’s hands were painfully put behind his back by a large security guard, his lab coat torn open as if it proved the deceit he’d been playing on everyone.

An onlooker gasped as he and Matt were pushed into a dark elevator to their right. Its doors shut immediately, and everything became still as only Frank’s heavy breathing was audible to those with normal hearing. The guards didn’t even speak throughout; what could they do but follow the orders of the man whose stern voice Matt could vaguely hear in their earpieces?

Could it be that they were taken straight to the man in charge of this operation?

Or — to their deaths?

The nervous crowd in front of the elevators had dispersed into their offices before Frank could feel his ear pop as they soar into the sky a dozen floors at a time. He felt a security guard’s hot, disgusting breath against the back of his neck, and he almost wished to be back in Matt’s apartment, where everything was a little less awful and a lot less dangerous.

Then again, what’s wrong with dangerous? They were in an elevator. They were outnumbered, yes, but they could easily escape. He’d done it before, with the blood on his hands staining the grey, metallic button panel as he operated it. He could do it again now, but the Punisher side of Frank hardly had the time to come up with a plan; a _ting_ signalled that they’d arrived at their destination only a couple of seconds later. The 21 st floor, judging by the screen in front of him.

The doors opened, and our questionable heroes were pulled out of the elevator by their aching arms. For Frank, it felt as if his body was being torn apart. He’d probably popped another stitch in the process, and he half-hoped he’d have to borrow another one of Matt’s shirts when they got out of here. _If_.

Where they were now, neither of them could quite tell. There was not enough sound to go on, and the only thing Frank could deduce by looking around him was that they were in the middle of a large, spacious office with a view even more tremendous than the one Frank had witnessed on his many rooftops. Inside, there were no personal artefacts, paintings or even plant pots, and certainly no posters of smiling people and their animals. The office could have been anyone’s.

Perhaps that was the whole point: get them into some nondescript office up on the 21st floor and have them killed. No-one would ever know, not even the employees in their little blue lab coats on the ground floor.

‘Where are we, Frank?’ Matt asked Frank a little nervously before having his arms pulled behind his back even tighter.

‘An office,’ Frank whispered, and he suffered the same fate when ‘his’ guard painfully kicked his bruised ankle by way of telling him to keep quiet. These security guards were no joke.

In fact, the guards didn’t let go of Frank and Matt at all until steps heralded someone’s arrival and a man in his late fifties appeared out of nowhere as if he’d been conjured up by Magic. Judging by the way he knew his way around the office’s sparse collection of furniture, he owned this office. Worked at it, probably.

Could this be the man who was in charge of this operation?

‘Would you look at that; two visitors,’ said the stranger, and he started towards his desk as if the presence of two young strangers hardly bothered him. He opened a desk drawer to retrieve a brand new bottle of wine and opened it before pouring its contents into a small glass. Little drops that were only audible to Matt fell onto the desk like tiny droplets of rain, and the stranger wiped it away with his hand as if it was nothing and his visitors were no-one.

Frank and Matt couldn’t tell how much time had passed between coming here and this. All Frank knew was that he had to watch a completely stranger drink the entire contents of his glass of wine until he seemingly remembered he was not alone and finally – _finally_ – dismissed the two guards with a casual wave of his hand. Even Matt, who could obviously not see this man at all, could tell by the subtle sounds of his movements that this was someone who was In Charge. ‘It’s all right, boys, you can go now,’ he told the guards, and back into the elevator the men went.

Our boys were by now too stumped to try to follow their temporary captors. Who was this guy, and why were they in his office? If he was truly the person behind everything that had happened recently, why hadn’t he just had them killed or poisoned them with his wine? Why, indeed, allow them to come up here at all?

Matt was the first to speak. When he did, he did so without the charm he usually used on suspects. ‘Who are you?’

‘You can call me Roger,’ said the stranger. He then seemed to get lost in his own thoughts until he added quite apropos of nothing, ‘Sorry for the office, I’ve only just moved back into it. I was planning to get a cute painting of a cat or iguana whatever, but you know how it is, I never have time to do anything in this place. Still, at least the view’s good. No offence.’ This was directed at Matt. ‘Do you know — I used to own an iguana once. Named it after a band, I think. Can’t remember which one. Must’ve been a good one.’

Matt could hear Frank grinding his teeth next to him. ‘Who _are_ you?’

Roger scoffed. ‘I own this company. And no, I have nothing to do with what you’re here for.’

‘No? Prove it.’

‘I don’t think I have to, with that fella over there,’ said Roger, again talking about Matt. ’Nice trick with the keycard, by the way,’ he added as if the thought had suddenly struck him. ‘I mean, it wasn’t as good as your stunt at the vet last night, but still. Good job.’

Frank made a step forward, and Matt had to squeeze his hand to stop him from doing something incredibly stupid. ‘You’ve been watching us?’

Judging by the gentle _sloshing_ of liquid, Roger was pouring himself another drink. It wasn’t a sound one would ordinarily expect to hear during a meeting with the owner of a potentially dangerous organisation; was Roger only trying to put our heroes at ease or was he in fact drinking away his guilt? ‘You want some? It’s very good,’ he said, and he took another big sip.

‘No, thanks,’ Frank snapped. ‘How come you know why we’re here? Who told you this?’

‘Like I said, I’m the head of this company,’ said Roger, as if that explained everything. He sounded more serious now, and a gentle tremble coloured his voice. Not the guilty kind. ‘You think I wouldn’t find out that the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen had been spotted visiting the very places I distribute my medicine to? That I don’t _care_ about the sanctity of my products? There have been rumours, you know. Stories about our dog medicine being used for, how do I put it, unnatural things. Things God hasn’t intended. Let me tell you, _we_ never intended it to be like that either.’ He paused, then added a little less seriously, ‘You sure you don’t want some? Honestly, I have an entire storage full of this stuff.’

Matt frowned. What this guy was saying sounded truthful, but how could they be sure with everything that had been going on lately? Roger could be in cahoots with the dognappers for all they knew.

But why would he be? There was no money in this. No pride. All these dognappings were doing, was prove that there was something deeply wrong with the medicine this company was making. Wouldn’t it be in the company’s best interest to stop these events from potentially ruining their reputation?

Frank shot Matt a puzzled look. ‘Is he lying?’

Matt shook his head. He wasn’t. Everything Roger was saying was true, even if it didn’t explain anything.

‘But you manufactured that medicine yourselves,’ Matt said, puzzled. ‘You must have had it tested. How can this happen?’

Roger shrugged. ‘God knows. Testing took us months. Years. In those years, nothing odd ever happened. We didn’t even make mistakes. And we always knew the medicine was _good_ , of course – scratches from playdates with other dogs healing in a day, cute puppies growing quicker than usual, and so on – but then we roll it onto the market, and we get even _better_ results. Suddenly, a sick twenty-year-old Labrador no longer needs to be put down. A puppy is miraculously declared cancer free. Can you imagine the conversation the vets had with these pets’ owners? And with _us_? We were over the moon, all of us.  
  
‘And you know, it was great for business, at least for a while, but then the _really_ strange things started happening. A Chihuahua killing another Chihuahua. A Pitbull, with fangs this big.’ (Here, Matt assumed Roger made a gesture to accentuate his statement.) ‘And then the reports that _you’ve_ been chasing? About, I don’t know, dogs being kidnapped and — what, experimented on? How bad is this going to get?’ he asked as if he expected Matt and Frank themselves to give him the answer. They didn’t, so he went on, ‘You’ve been investigating this, haven’t you? Tell me what to do, cos I’m, well, I’m lost here, to be honest. Even this wine doesn’t taste as good as it should.’

The long silence that followed allowed Matt to think about what was happening here. So the head of this animal health company knew that there was something wrong with their dog meds and that he and Frank were in the middle of a drawn-out attempt to get things back to normal, but how were they ever going to use this to their advantage?

‘Roger, Sir,’ Matt began finally, ‘dogs from all over Hell’s Kitchen are being taken and administered your medicine to change them into monsters. We’ve — my partn— my colleague here has witnessed first-hand what those dogs have been turned into,’ he explained with a bit of difficulty, and as though on cue Frank rolled up his sleeves and slowed the bandages that were still on his arms. They’d been bled through. ‘I need your absolute word that you and your company has nothing to do with it.’

‘You have my word,’ said Roger, truthfully.

‘Good, good . . .’ Matt trailed off, and he ran his hands through his hair in a confused manner. Usually, Matt would go through a list of questions he wanted to ask the people he met on his cases, but meeting the head of this animal health company had not even been on his mind when he first came here half an hour ago. He had hardly had time to think about what he wanted to discover here at all.

Finally, Matt spoke. ‘What are the ingredients in these medicines, Roger? What makes them so effective?’

Roger sipped his glass of wine and thought about it. ‘We haven’t used anything illegal, if that’s what you’re saying. We did get some worried letters from one or two pet owners about the fish oil component that’s advertised on the package, but it’s such a small dose that it hardly matters. We only put it on there to stand out from the other brands in shops.’

‘ _Fish oil_?’

Roger took another sip. ‘Yeah. Is that an issue?’

Matt put his hand to his head as if he’d finally realised something, then turned to Frank. When he spoke, he did so in a whisper that hardly reached Roger’s old ears. ‘Roger’s speaking the truth, Frank. The company didn’t do this on purpose. It’s the fish oil in the pills. I’ve heard it mentioned before. There’s something about it that’s been turning random civilians into — you know.’ At this, Matt waved vaguely at himself. ‘It must be doing the same thing to those dogs. Especially if they’re deliberately being fed those pills in high doses.’

Frank nodded slowly. He could remember reading something about fish oil on the package of dog medicine they’d stolen last night, but he didn’t think it was important enough so he dismissed it. ‘What does this mean, Red? Have we reached a dead end?’

‘Not necessarily,’ Matt said before turning to Roger again. ‘How many places are these pills being distributed to?’

Roger shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Many.’

‘I need you to be more specific than that.’

‘Look, we’re popular. It’s a big number. I can ask my secretary to give you the exact one.’

Matt shook his head. ‘That won’t do.’

‘Why not?’

A potentially brilliant, case-solving idea was forming in Matt’s head. Frank could tell, because he’d had the same idea in the course of their conversation. If it was no use going to the dognappers’ warehouses and city ports themselves, they’d have to lure them out into the open — fight them on the good guys’ territory, for once and for all. If the criminals wanted to fight dirty, so would they.

‘This is what we’re gonna do, Roger,’ began Matt. In a complete first, Frank was already nodding his head to show the head of the pharmaceutical company that he agreed with him. They were going to solve this the Matt Murdock way. (And _then_ he was going to snap the neck of the person responsible for taking his dog. He’d do it quietly, when Matt was feeling too smug for having saved and solved everything to notice.) ‘You’re going to recall all your dog medicine from every single pet shop, vet and individual you distribute this stuff to. By the end of the day, I don’t want a single pill to be left lying around.’

‘I’ll _check_ ,’ Frank warned in his usual Punisher voice. (He really would, you know.)

‘And I want everything you’ve recalled to be stored in one place,’ Matt continued. ‘One warehouse. Can you do that for me?’

‘To what end?’ asked Roger.

‘To draw those sons of bitches out of their hiding place,’ was Frank’s brusque but true explanation, and he accentuated his words with a pound of his fist against his chest. ‘And then we’ll save the dogs they took.’

‘There’s one more thing we need,’ Matt added before Roger could start towards the phone on his desk to get things in motion. ‘We need something to get those dogs back to normal. A — a vaccine of some sort. A counter-medicine. I hate to think that those pets are beyond saying.’

When Matt said it he could feel Frank tremble beside him as if he’d monetarily, blissfully forgotten the notion that his dog might be changed forevermore too, and he gave Frank a rare, quiet rub on the small of his back. Matt would never be able to understand the joy that this dog gave Frank or even begin to consider why _his_ of all dogs was more special than the rest, but it didn’t matter now. Everything would be all right, and clearly the head of this company thought so too:

‘I might have something.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt gets well-acquainted with a wall in the next chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

At the end of the night, Frank couldn’t remember what he’d come here for. So much had happened between meeting Roger, the powerful head of the animal health company, and this; standing outside of the building with a single vial of dog medicine in his hands and feeling oh so guilty about what had passed.

Rarely did things make sense on missions, but now the answers to their questions were few and far between. Was this counter-medicine truly what they needed? Would this solve their case? Would this bright idea of Matt’s finally bring the dognappers to their knees or was this single vial just an overzealous smoke screen for the notion that they were never going to get to the end of this even if they tried? Should Frank stop letting his emotions get the better of him? God knows.

But it wasn’t what puzzled Frank most. It was his own face, changed beyond recognition after what he’d put Matt through. After where they’d been. Perhaps it was just a trick of the night, but Frank almost thought his voice had a hint of regret about it.

||

The strange events of that night were put in motion when Roger said he ‘had something’. After he’d given someone barely as important as him the task to recall all of the company’s dog medicine  _that same morning_ , the head of the company claimed that a small group of lab workers had lately been working on pills that might balance out the side-effects of the ones currently in distribution. In other words, there was now one pill to take the dogs up and one pill to take them back down. The latter should, in theory, be able to get Frank’s dog back to normal — if he was still alive at all.

It was a quiet, understaffed assignment on an equally unloved fourth floor that meant that the counter-pills had hardly been tested, but Matt had already made up his mind. This was exactly what they needed.

Their task, Matt reckoned, was simple: they’d gather the counter-pills, use Roger’s product recall to draw the dognappers to a place where the good guys had the upper hand, somehow knock everyone out (non-lethally, Frank), and finally administer the new pills to all the dogs that had been taken. Then they’d have the crooks arrested and return the restored dogs to their rightful owners.

There’d be no killing this time. It’d be easy as pie. 

But like a true questionable new ally, Roger then decided to make things more difficult for them. ‘I  _will_  give you the — the counter-pills or whatever we’ve decided to call them,’ Roger pointed out after he’d taken his umpteenth sip of wine of the morning (yes, really), ‘but under one condition. I’m not giving them to you.’

Matt frowned in a manner that Frank found strangely adorable. ‘What do you mean, Roger?’

Roger scoffed as if the answer to that question was obvious. ‘How bad do you think I’m going to look recalling all my products  _and_  giving you those counter-pills like I’m Father Christmas? Those — _criminals_ you’ve been fighting will think we’re working together and kill me! In my office! Have you seen the state of this place?’ He turned to Frank. ‘Punisher, tell him. I refuse to be killed here.’

Unfortunately Frank decided to do or say nothing, so Roger went on resolutely, ‘You’ll have to steal those counter-pills from me. All of it. Whatever amount we have in storage. But don’t make it look like I’m involved. Please. I beg of you,’ he added, and when he did he sounded more human than he had all morning. Clearly this man was more scared of what was being done with his products than he was letting on. He was scared, and who could blame him? Everyone in his position would be.

Before Frank could suggest that Roger was no more than a coward with a bad haircut, Matt agreed to his plan and promised they’d be back at midnight. In the meantime, Frank and Matt would discuss their plans in some neglected but cosy bar and stare at each other while they drank coffee and more or less agreed with each other that they should do no more than “steal” the counter-pills tonight. Clearly their touching session from that morning was still on their minds, but it – and its follow-up – was not their priority tonight. Getting what they needed was.

And indeed, well over twelve hours later, the boys returned to the pharmaceutical headquarters dressed not in their stolen lab coats but in their red and black suits — and for the latter, without the dirt and stains from the previous days because  _someone_  had decided to put the damn thing in the washing machine. 

Getting back in, even without the help of key cards and lab coats, was pretty straightforward. All it took was a gentle nudge against a door Roger had left open on a balcony on the seventh floor, and in they went. Roger had even gone through the trouble of making the door look as if it had been forced open to make things look like a break-in; everything to create the impression that Frank and Matt were being aided by no-one. This was  _their_ idea. They’d stumbled upon the existence of this new medicine by accident. The company had nothing to do with it.

The counter-medicine that was supposed to turn the dogs back into their respective former selves was hidden in a cold storage on the fourth floor. Only a select group of people had worked on it, so only a select group of people knew of its whereabouts. Twelve finished vials of complicated medical substance were kept in a large, inconspicuous box to keep away unwanted visitors, but an underpaid member of staff had conveniently marked it with some codename that now only he, Roger and two superheroes knew about. Only when the stuff was fully tested would it be turned into pills suitable for the mass market. Right now, there was no way of telling whether it would actually work.

But it didn’t stop Frank and Matt from feeling very confident that night. In theory, there was very little that could go wrong about this mission, and that was perhaps that led to that sad, single vial in Frank’s bruised hand half an hour later. Had the boys not felt so incredibly, smugly self-assure that they were absolutely going to pull this off, they might have heard the footsteps that echoed theirs in the empty corridors. 

It was too late for that now. Within seconds of arriving at the fourth floor of the building, they found themselves in front of the storage room they needed: room 4.57, with its door left ajar like an invitation. Now, all they needed to do was find the box of counter-medicine, close the door behind them, and leave.

This aided mission really was tremendously easy, and under different circumstances they would probably have found it suspicious. Missions were never easy. There was always the unexpected guest in a parking lot or the gun hidden underneath a leather jacket that was bound to make their case a lot more dangerous than it was ever supposed to be. But they weren’t thinking about that now, and why would they? They’d undertaken more difficult tasks and lived to tell the tale. They’d find the pills and get the hell out of here.

There was really no more to it, and clearly Roger thought so too when he left the door to the secret storage room open.

The moment the boys stepped inside the room, the sound of their footsteps changed. Their breathing became softer. Their touches, gentler. As if being in a cold room full of expensive pills, vials, and brand new discoveries was the same thing as being in a library filled with old manuscripts about the ways of old, they kept their mouths shut as they walked. This was a space that needed care and respect. There would be no fighting here.

Judging by the gentle reverberating of their steps, this was a very large room indeed, and Matt couldn’t help but curiously let his hands trail across the shelves and boxes he went past. Every box felt heavier and more important than the next, and packed shelves became fuller and fuller as the seconds passed. He imaged being surrounded by large cupboards and slotted angle racks, one after another, reaching towards the ceiling until there was no more space and things had to be kept on the floor. In front of him, Matt could hear Frank carefully inspecting each shelf and box in his own quick manner.

These weren’t the meds they were looking for. None of them had right codename written on them in a quick scrawl of marker or pencil. Were they even in the right place? Had Roger, in fact, led them into a trap that would soon start to close on them?

‘Are you sure we could trust that guy, Red?’

‘Positive, Frank.’

‘Then how come we haven’t —’

Frank never had the time to finish his sentence. Matt shushed him and grabbed his hand instinctively. Forcefully.

Someone was here.

There had been a third person all this time, and only now did Matt remember the extra set of footsteps in front of them. In all his confidence and pleasure to be with Frank, he had somehow tuned out the sound entirely and focussed instead on Frank’s breathing; his heartbeat that sounded so much like the beats Matt heard in his ears that morning; his footsteps; but never the sound of danger that presented itself in front of them.

What if Daredevil was losing his touch?

Fast forward to the storage room on the fourth floor. Matt tried to pull Frank away from the sound, but it was already too late. A pile of boxes fell over in someone’s inattentiveness, and off Frank went.

‘Stop it right there!’

‘Stop it, you bastard!’

‘Come back here!’

No reply.

Matt could do nothing but follow suit.

There were three sets of footsteps now: one Frank’s, one Matt’s, and the other one: quick, hurried, not belonging here. Who could it be? Roger? A nameless lab rat?

One of the dognappers, perhaps?

It didn’t matter who he was, not now. His legs were taller than Frank’s. He was fast, and judging by his step he was carrying something; the medicine they’d come here for, no doubt. If they lost the counter-meds, all would be lost and their mission would be over. There would be no point continuing because the one thing that would get the missing dogs back to normal would have been taken away from them.

They _had_ to keep up, but they couldn’t. The other guy was too fast.

How far did this room go?

Frank must’ve knocked over a pile of boxes and taken a shortcut, because the next thing Matt heard was a loud _clang_ and the sound of Frank’s voice, loud and clear: ‘Don’t move, you son of a bitch.’

They had no weapons with them, even though they both knew the culprit in front of them did. There was no sound of a cocking gun, just Frank balling his fist so determinedly that Matt could hear his joints crack. This was about to get personal.

Frank was standing in the doorway of the storage room, the culprit a couple of feet away from him. He was carrying the box of counter-meds Roger had promised them, secret codename written on the sides and all, and Frank almost thought he could remember the guy from their visit to the warehouse a couple of nights ago.

‘What’s happening, Frank?’

‘This bastard is trying to steal what’s ours,’ spat Frank. Matt imagined him to have an angry, unforgiving look on his face when he said it.

The culprit let out a short laugh. He sounded young. New. ‘What’s _yours_? You mean like your _dog_? The dog that you let us take away from you? You mean that one?’

Matt could hear Frank’s heart skip a beat, then speed up considerably. It was a sound Matt’s ears had registered time and time again, right before Frank was about to head into that haunted, rancid warehouse on a not so quiet evening — and later, right before Frank nearly kissed him only a couple of hours ago and then stopped.

In other words, the Punisher was about to do something very stupid.

‘Frank . . .’

Matt reached for Frank’s hand in the darkness, but he could not find it; in the silence that followed between the dognapper’s comment and this moment, Frank had already moved forward considerably.

He was about to make a move; punch this guy and take the counter-meds he’d stolen, but what Frank did not realise was that in doing so he’d leave the path to the exit wide open. This was not a plan that would have a positive outcome.

There followed another crack of Frank’s knuckles. Another step forward. ‘What did you just say?’

‘What I’m saying is that you’re a bad pet owner, Punisher. Letting your dog be taken like that . . .’ the young dognapper trailed off, leaving just enough silence to allow Frank’s head to be filled with bad ideas. ‘Do you know what that dog of yours looks like right now?’ he asked with an acid, taunting voice to his voice. ‘You wouldn’t even _recognise_ him.’

Another skip of a heartbeat. Frank was getting agitated.

‘We’ve made him stronger, Castle. Better. With you, he was useless. You should be _grateful_ that we took him.’

The words that Frank spoke next sounded almost shaky. ‘I’ll make you pay for what you did.’

The dognapper clicked his tongue and pressed the box of vials closer to his chest. Matt could hear each individual vial rattle against the tiny structure that was holding them. ‘Yeah? Well, it’s not going to bring your ugly _mutt_ back.’

That did it.

Frank lashed out, and there instantly followed a struggle. Things fell on the ground. Frank’s stitches popped and old wounds reopened as the dognapper kicked him and ran off into the darkness. A shot rang out, but no-one was hit. A half-empty vial landed in front of someone’s feet. Then there was a loud _clang_ and the sound of Frank’s body hitting something, and there followed the silent but deafening realisation that the dognapper had locked them up.

‘Let us out of here, you bastard!’ Frank shouted at the closed door, but it was already too late. They were stuck once more.

‘What the hell, Frank!’ That came from Matt. Angry. Incredulous.

The door wouldn’t budge.

‘Aren’t you going to help me get out of here, Red?’ Frank barked at Matt before knocking over a bunch of boxes in his angry haze to find an exit. Perhaps if they caught up with that thieving bastard, they’d still be able to get back those meds and save his dog on their next trip. _Everything_ depended on them catching up with him.  

‘ _Help_ you? If you hadn't let that guy provoke you, we wouldn't _be_ here, Frank!’ Matt exclaimed as he listened to Frank desperately, pointlessly trying to find a secret, second exit out in this cold storage. Matt had already heard and felt enough to know that was only one way out of here, and it was the door that dognapper had closed right in front of them. ‘If you'd done as I said . . .’

Frank huffed. ‘What do you mean, _done as you fucking said_? We didn’t even have a _plan_ when we got here, and now you’re blaming _me_?’

‘You know very well this isn’t the first time you’ve let your — ego get the better of you, Frank.’

In his growing frustration, Frank knocked over another box of medicines. ‘Are we going to have this conversation again, Red? Cos that's fucking useful, you know. You always think you're so damn better than me, don't you? Christ, Red . . .’ the Punisher trailed off before kicking a storage box so loudly that Matt started. Already, the fabric that covered his arms and legs was starting to stain red with the blood of his re-opened wounds.

‘That's not what I said, Frank.’

‘Then what?’

Sometimes, in very harsh and difficult circumstances, you say things you don't mean: stupid things that creep up on you at the very worst of moments because those are the only times you don’t give a damn about the effects your words might have. Even Frank had done it; in Matt’s bedroom, high on painkillers and numbed by the realization that he loved Matt oh so much. The words had just rolled out of him.

In other words, Matt Murdock was about to say something very stupid indeed.

‘I just think it's dangerous that you care so much about your dog, Frank,’ Matt admitted without thinking. This was the thing that bothered Matt most, the one, truthful thing he could say — because when _else_ was he supposed to let down his guard but here, when they were not threatened by dognappers and criminals? He was safe to say what he was thinking here.

— except he wasn’t.

‘Why — why are we even bothering with this at all? It's just a pet. A _pet_ , Frank. Is he really more important than all the other dogs that were taken without their owner’s permission? What _difference_ does it make?’

Something snapped. Suddenly, Matt was pushed up against the only wall not covered from floor to ceiling with crates, boxes or cupboards. His head hit hard concrete. Frank's fingers were wrapped around his neck.

 _Around his neck_.

A leg was put between his own so that he would not be going anywhere. A heart skipped a beat. His.

Frank's breath felt hotter than ever on Matt’s cold, tense skin, and it might even have turned Matt on if he didn't feel so completely and utterly terrified in the hands of a lethal vigilante. One touch, one wrong word, and he’d be dead. That was the kind of person Matt was in love with.

‘Say that again, Red,’ Frank rasped, his voice changed by the sudden anger he felt for Matt. Nobody talked about his dog like that, not even Murdock. Not him, ever.

‘Frank . . .’

‘Say — that — again,’ Frank demanded, and he pressed his hand around Matt’s neck so tight that he could feel the devil’s heartbeat against his palm.

‘F-Frank . . .’

‘I’m waiting, Red.’

It was already getting harder to breathe, but the more pressure Matt felt on his throat, the more his initial fear disappeared. This wasn't just about Frank's dog. This was about him, and Frank, together. Together, as they had been for the past couple of days. Together, how they constantly wished they would be but never were because of all the shit that kept happening.

Still, a muffled ‘ _Why_?’ was the only thing Matt could utter. Why? Why that particular dog? Why not anyone else’s?

Frank let out a short, disbelieving laugh. God, he wished he could squeeze the goddamn ignorance out of that guy. ‘You think that dog is only a pet for me, Red? You think that animal hasn't been through more shit than you and me combined? He's been there for me, you know. He's been there for me more than any shitbag of a human has ever been, and you sure as hell ain't going to pretend like you're better than him.’

‘I-It's not that, Frank,’ Matt gasped. His own hands were on Frank’s chest, pushing his body away from him — but not enough, never too much. He needed the connection too badly. ‘I – I think you care more about those dogs than yourself. It’s blinding your judgment, Frank.’

‘And what’s so wrong with that, huh? What’s so wrong with _caring_?’ Another squeeze. Less room to breathe. ‘Is everything I do a damn problem to you, Red? _Huh_?’

Frank’s hand was still on Matt’s neck. The cold concrete of the wall was pressed into his back despite a thick layer of fabric, and Matt couldn’t help but be reminded of when they were stuck in that cupboard, moments away from being discovered by a kind woman while all they could do was argue and fight and everything else two vigilantes in love shouldn’t.

They nearly kissed that night.

It was almost as if they were constantly just one argument or word or touch away from doing just that. And why? Because of their big egos? Because they were _afraid_? Afraid of what? They didn’t have to worry that their love would not be reciprocated because they both knew how fucked up the other person was. That part of their relationship had been taken care of already. No, perhaps — perhaps they were just afraid of how good things would feel when they finally took control.

Matt trembled against Frank’s firm hold, but not just because of the burning sensation in his throat. ‘I-it’s a problem because you don’t care whether you’ll get hurt or not, and I don’t want you to get hurt again, Frank.’ He paused to take in Frank’s heartbeat and found that it matched his own: nervous, terrified. Preparing for what they both knew was coming. ‘Please. I beg of you. We can end this without anyone getting hurt.’

There it was, another admission of feelings. First, it was been Frank admitting that he could not think about nothing but Matt Murdock when he thought he was going to die. Nothing about it was lied or exaggerated; all of it was true, word for word. Now, it was Matt himself, admitting that what he really, really wanted was Frank to be safe and alive and in his arms, where he should be. But without bandages. Without bruises Matt could not see. He wanted _that_ Frank Castle, not the one who constantly risked his life because of how little he still cared about his own.

Something about Frank’s breathing had changed.

(Something about the way he was pressing Matt’s body into the wall had, too.)

‘I always thought you were a sentimental little shit, Red.’

Frank had come a little closer, but not with the intention of hurting Matt further. All he wanted, right now, was to take things further.

As did Matt.

‘I – I didn’t know that bothered you so much, Frank.’

‘Never said it did, Murdock. Never said it did . . .’ Frank trailed off slowly, and Matt could suddenly feel his lover’s crotch against his own because in a sudden twist of events, that’s what they both wanted. Frank’s heartbeat was not signaling the coming of yet another fight or angered conversation, but of something far, far worse that they both didn’t think they’d ever do in a cold, empty storage at a medical facility.

All it took, was one sharp intake of breath.

A flutter of a heartbeat.

A whispered ‘ _Oh, fuck it’_ , and another case of Frank not thinking his actions through.

All of a sudden, Matt could feel Frank’s mouth on his neck like when they were in that cupboard and oh so afraid — but this time, they were actual wet kisses instead of mere brushes of lips. Hands were everywhere rather than just on delicate necks: on the curve of Frank’s back; on Matt’s chest; in each other’s hair; nervous fingers, trying and failing to find a not a knife or gun, but a zipper.

To _hell_ with waiting for this mission to be over.

Frank uttered a sound of frustration against Matt’s ear. He wanted Matt naked, now. His chest had looked far too promising when they were on Matt’s bed this morning. ‘Doesn’t this damn suit have a zipper?’

‘There’s one on — on the . . .’

‘ _Where_ , Red? What do you do when you have to take a shit?’

‘The . . . oh God . . .’ Matt trailed off when he felt teeth sink into his neck. In his impatience, Frank had given up on looking for ways to get Daredevil naked, and he’d proceeded to desperately rub his clad body against Matt’s until it was all they both felt. His hand returned to Matt’s soft, marked neck, and Matt was pretty sure he felt his own dick twitch in his suit.

They were actually doing this, then.

They were not doing it in the comforts of his apartment or on Frank’s dirty, battered sofa, but _here_ , right after they’d had another fight and lost the _one_ key to solving this puzzle. They could still get out of here and chase the vial thief out into the many corners and corridors of his building, but no — they _had_ to do this first.

Matt moved his leg so that they could rub each other at a perfect, delicious angle, and for the next couple of minutes, Frank’s racing heartbeat was the only thing he heard. That, and the moans. The sound of fabric against fabric. _Goddamn_.

‘It’s going to be very awkward if someone walks into us like this,’ Matt noted. He couldn’t help but hear the rhythm of Frank’s breathing change when he mentioned it.

‘Fuck that,’ Frank rasped before eliciting another delicious moan from Matt with his teeth. They were still rocking their bodies together, and with each second that passed, the need to undress was growing exponentially. For one of them, the regret and guilt would come later; now, all they could think of was that they really should have done this in Matt’s apartment.

‘I wish you’d take your clothes off,’ rasped Matt. Shit, he sounded horny.

‘While _you’re_ still in that damn suit? Not a chance, Red. Sides, I kinda like it like this . . . Gets my suit dirty again . . .’

Matt let out another strained moan as Frank rocked his hips just right. ‘Fuck, I think I —’

‘You’re gonna come in your suit, huh? You’re that horny?’

(Fucking hell.)

‘No. Wait,’ Matt gasped, and he pushed Frank back just in time to hear something. ‘I think — I think I know how we can get out of here.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now wouldn’t it be great if this was the end of their constant pining for each other? (ʘ‿ʘ✿)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update this. I've been distracted/on holiday/unmotivated, and I've only now had time and opportunity to write more. The next chapters will be better, promise.

Ventilation ducts covered the entire headquarters of the medical company. They had never been used by anyone and not been cleaned in over two years, but it was the only thing the boys had. The other option was staying here and frankly not knowing what they’d do to each other until someone heard their call and unlocked the door their bodies were pressed against, but they didn’t have time for that tonight. If this entire mission had been filled with bright, neon light reminders that they ought to Get A Move On, this would be the brightest one yet. They needed to leave or otherwise face the consequences.

So, once Matt had discovered a ventilation shaft in their cold storage room and figured out how to open it (with brute force, as Frank had demonstrated), they awkwardly climbed their way to safety and soon found themselves covered with dust.

The entire time, their bodies shook like damaged leaves in an autumn storm.

It was hard to navigate the tiny, claustrophobic labyrinth of ventilation shafts while in a confused, mixed-up state of bliss and fear.  They felt bliss because, well, how could they not? They had just taken their relationship to the next level by _dry-humping_. Heck, had Matt not heard the subtle sound of wind blowing all around them, their lips would not only have found the rare pieces of exposed necks and noses, but mouths; tongues; sensitive spots just below Matt’s belly button if Frank ever managed to get the shaking attorney naked. They would have done everything that was not expected of them on this mission.

But they had to make do with the memory of touching each other’s bodies, for now. The rest would come later – if ever –, and that’s where the fear came in; fear not of what they both had allowed to happen, but of what might come. They’d done the rubbing and touching and groping now; what on Earth might happen next?

A date, Matt reckoned. Yes, that’s what they’d do. They’d get the hell out of this maze and discuss anything but the mission on Matt’s sofa while they laid together. They’d drink and laugh and eat and do fuck all, like they were supposed to. After a glass of wine and a kiss or two Matt might even put Frank’s jacket on and ride him like that, but the brief thought turned out to be no more than a far-fetched fantasy; ten minutes later the boys crawled out of the ventilation shaft and found themselves outside of the building, and the first thing Frank said was —

‘Do you think the bastard that took those meds is here somewhere, Red?’

Admittedly, the question was not at all like the one on Matt’s mind. For the first time this mission, Matt didn’t want to reflect on their proceedings thus far and write a list of all the things they ought (not) to be doing, but talk about his feelings. _Their_ feelings. He had neglected to tell Frank how he felt about him when he had the chance that morning, in his bed, but right now he wanted to talk about nothing else. He wanted to mention the touches and the kisses and most of all the feeling of Frank’s crotch against his own, but something told him that Frank didn’t want him to. His heartbeat was too dissimilar to the one Matt had heard on the fourth floor for that.

‘Red, is he _here_?’ Frank persisted. He sounded anxious, impatient, but most of all he sounded . . . guilty, perhaps. Matt couldn’t quite tell what it was. ‘ _Red_.’

Matt sighed stubbornly, but he concentrated anyway. Judging by the faint sound of traffic and the strong – strong! – smell of litter, they were in an alleyway behind the building. Sounds he at first thought were footsteps were no more than a rat’s paws on concrete, and the only heartbeat he heard was Frank’s. They were alone, but not comfortably so.

‘He’s long gone, Frank. Probably took the counter-meds to his friends. Or disposed of them. And anyway, I’d rather talk about something else. Something I think we both need to — to get out of our systems before we move on.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Red.’

‘I think you do, Frank. I mean, God, we —’ Matt didn’t know the word. What he and Frank did could be described as a lot of things – bad, bad things –, but every single one of them had momentarily been wiped from Matt’s vocabulary. All he knew was that it felt amazing and a lot more addictive than he ever thought it would.  ‘I mean, we _kissed_ back there. We shared a moment.’

Frank laughed a nervous laugh at that. It was tinged with a hint of regret that Matt didn’t notice. ‘You must not be used to kissing very much if you call _that_ a kiss.’

Matt felt his cheeks burn. ‘Why don’t you show me what a real kiss is like if you know so much about them, then?’

‘Like I said, Red,’ Frank mumbled, ‘you wouldn’t be able to handle it.’ A dark cloud of guilt had passed over his features, but Matt could not see. He didn’t even notice Frank turning away his face from his as though Frank did not dare look at him.

‘Prove it.’

Frank hesitated. He looked at the vial of medicine in his hands, then at Matt, then at the vial again, and thought very, very hard about what he was going to do with it. Would he sacrifice the medicine for the greater good, or —

No, he shouldn’t do that. Matt would never forgive him, even after all this time.

— Or _should_ he?

Regardless, Matt didn’t know that Frank had it. He happened to stumble upon it during his struggle with the criminal on the fourth floor, then picked it up and put it in his pocket. He didn’t know then what he might be able to do with it. As a result, the vial felt heavy there, like he’d put a brick into his pocket and forgotten to get rid of it. It was heavy, like his _conscience_ ; had Frank not lost his cool with the dognapper, he would have ten times the amount of vials in his hands now. He’d have the whole set, manufactured to turn every single dog back to normal, including his own.

He’d fucked everything up just because he got _distracted._

Did Frank really have time for yet more distractions such as the shape of Matt’s lips or the touch of his hand? Was pinning Matt against that wall and almost undressing him while the criminals were still at large really, _really_ what he ought to have done?

He didn’t know anymore.

A dark cloud had by now covered the city streets, and every now and then a raindrop would hit the tip of his ear or the exposed line of his neck. A dirty, putrid smell hit his nose, and he could hardly believe that he and Matt had been in the clean, white headquarters of a medical company fifteen minutes previously.

Finally, Frank spoke. ‘You were right, Red,’ he said slowly. ‘That guy provoked me. I got distracted. I’m not going to let that happen to me anymore. You know? I can’t let that happen, not while my dog’s still out there. I owe that to him, and — and I know you’re probably going to tell me that everything’s going to be fine and all that shit, but we don’t know that. We won’t until we finish this mission.’

There followed another silence in which the rain turned into a light, unpleasant storm that turned their hands cold and made the hairs stand on the back of their necks, and it was only then that Matt realised what Frank was saying. He regretted what had happened. Even now, Frank was putting all the blame on himself.

‘Frank,’ Matt began, ‘even if you hadn’t . . . cornered me, we _still_ wouldn’t have caught up with that guy. We lost those medicines the moment he got there first. I should’ve heard him, but I didn’t. And besides, Frank, I . . . God, Frank, I enjoyed what we did. I _loved_ it. Didn’t _you_?’

Yes. God, yes, he did.

But that was not the point. The fact that Frank continued to compromise this mission, was. Had it not been for him, they would have finished this damn case a night ago. Perhaps there wouldn’t even be a case at all.

At the end of the day, all of this was on him, and not anyone else. Matt could help all he wanted, but it was the Punisher that had to carry the weight of what he’d done.

Finally, Frank cleared his throat and put the vial back into his pocket. He did not need it right now. ‘Let’s just head into a bar and figure out our next step before I regret ever asking for your help, Red,’ he said, and he had already sauntered out of the alley before Matt could catch his breath.

There would be no more touching today.

||

It’s not that Frank regretted touching Matt. (How could he, with Matt pushing up against him like Matt wanted nothing more than be taken right – fucking – there?) It’s just that he deeply, severely, regretted the timing of it. _I mean, making a move on Murdock right after they’d been locked up?_ What the hell was he thinking?

He never took a second to think, that was his problem. No matter the circumstances or people they were up against, he just kept on messing up this mission with his . . . God, he didn’t even know the word for it. Impulsiveness, probably. Stubbornness. A desire to prove Matt that _his_ way was best. Clearly, it wasn’t. The best way was waiting things out and, indeed, deciding on a strategy before diving head-first into a dangerous situation, but for some reason he couldn’t get that through his thick, stubborn skull. He was too hell-bent on punishing the people behind this heinous scheme for that.

And oh, he simply kept going. First, he fucked things up when he headed into that warehouse on his own. Then when he tackled the dognappers at the port and nearly got killed. And tonight, when he allowed himself to get provoked by both Matt Murdock and a criminal and lost their last shred of hope as a result. Now, all he had left was a single vial of medicine that probably wouldn’t even work anyway.

Even the memory of Frank’s dog was fading. He could no longer remember his smell or the touch of his fur, and how blissful it felt to have the dog there with him. How could Frank ever allow himself to be kissed by someone while his precious pet was still out there, being experimented on?

No, he had to save that proper first kiss for later, whether Matt liked it or not. It was the only way he’d be able to live with himself.

And so, it was with slight awkwardness that Frank and Matt arrived at a bar half an hour later and tried to come up with a suitable plan for the denouement of the Dognapping Case surrounded by cups of coffee and potato chips because this was a very cheap establishment. (And because Matt and Frank did not have any money.) The alternative of going back home together and doing something they both might regret was unfortunately something they dared not think about.   

As it was late and therefore eerily quiet in the boys’ usual after-dark meeting place, they had not bothered to get changed. The bar owner had become a friend of theirs by now, and he had kindly reserved a dark little corner spot for them ‘should they want to discuss superhero stuff’. Once he’d given them their questionable selection of food and drink, the bar owner left and served the only other customer in the building: a middle-aged man who was not a threat. He ordered a glass of wine and gloomily stared into it like he too was in love.

The boys quietly sipped their beers until Matt decided to fill the silence. ‘You said you wanted to discuss things, Frank. I’m all ears.’

Matt was sceptical they’d get much work done at all given Frank’s obvious dislike of a Good Plan, but then Frank pulled out his _trump card_ and changed everything. He brusquely shoved the vial he found into Matt’s hand without the usual lingering touch, and Matt was again, for about the fifth time that mission, reminded that they were making their relationship far more difficult than it ought to have been.

Matt could tell that whatever he was holding was cold and made of smooth glass, but there was no way of telling where it had come from. ‘Did you find this tonight?’

‘It’s a vial of counter-medicine. One of ten.’

‘The guy we met in the — the warehouse took the other nine?’

Frank made a guilty, affirmative sound.

‘I assumed the counter medicine were pills,’ said Matt, with that stupid, confused frown of his.

‘Yeah. It won’t be easy to administer it to the dogs.’

‘You still want to go through with that? With a single vial?’

Frank took a sip of beer so that he did not have to mention that he was planning to use the medicine – the only sample they had – on his own dog; the beautiful, precious dog he had not seen for days and who might very well have been turned into a murderous, dangerous monster like the one who nearly took his life a couple of nights ago.

Perhaps Matt was right, perhaps he _had_ been blinded by the love for his own pet, but what other choice did he have?

This was the _only_ choice. If it meant putting down the other dogs to effectively disarm the criminals . . .

Fuck, he didn’t even want to think about it. It was far too cruel, even for a tarnished man like him.

‘Let’s just focus on what we know, Red,’ Frank offered instead. ‘By tomorrow morning, there will be no more damn dog medicine left in the city. What will those bastards do?’

Matt shrugged unhelpfully. ‘Hopefully, heading to the warehouse Roger has sent his remaining his stock to. But _when_?’

Frank didn’t know, so he remained quiet. In the presence of no one else but a quiet bar owner, a middle-aged man with a glass of wine and Matt Murdock, it was slowly beginning to dawn on him that he had not been alone since last night. While Frank more or less enjoyed Murdock’s presence, it was also a source of frustration that had made this mission more difficult than not. He couldn’t even _think_.

‘You know what, Red, why don’t we head back home and sleep on it, huh? We can meet up again tomorrow. Right here.’

Matt’s face fell. He didn’t really know how he was expecting this night to end, but it wasn’t like that. ‘Ah. I see.’

‘We’ll be more awake in the morning,’ was Frank’s excuse. ‘Get some more energy into ourselves, you know. You look like a damn wreck.’

Matt sounded disappointed when he spoke. _Sad_. ‘No, of course, Frank. Of course. I agree.’

(Matt did not.)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My confidence in writing has hit a bit of a low, so this is a shorter chapter than usual. Doesn't make the chapter less eventful though...

Not everything had to be doom and gloom on missions. Fun could be had too. During one mission, Frank and Matt ended the nights drinking shots at the local bar. During another, the boys got to _skydive_. (Well, it was actually an unassisted and dangerous jump out of a plane to catch some bastard who had threatened to flood the city with radioactive waste, but still.) During yet another mission, Frank beat Matt at miniature golf. No surprises there. And one time, the boys just sat on a rooftop and talked about the little things that made life beautiful while the dirty, corrupt city they lived in kept on going all around them. Not every day had to be spent fighting.

But this mission had seen very little joy at all unless you counted _almost_ kissing in a cupboard. Matt knew it was no good to dwell on things that had happened in the past unless there was some lesson or strategy to be gained from it, but he still occasionally let his mind stray back to the things they’d been through this mission and came to only one conclusion. It just hadn’t been a lot of fun. None of it had. And even when they _were_ having fun, one of them always managed to fuck it up.

Even the visit to their local bar was cut short. Frank suggested they meet up there again tomorrow after claiming that his partner looked like a ‘damn wreck’, and Matt just got up and left. He didn’t even say a proper goodbye. He just ran and ran until he stumbled up the stairs to his apartment. He hardly noticed that a man across the street was watching him. One of the criminals.

Matt didn’t know what time it was when he came home. Three, four in the morning or thereabouts. It hardly mattered with the amount of time they’d wasted today.

He walked in, closed his front door, took off his suit with a bit of an effort – he was now half-naked because it would help advance the plot – and headed straight to his bedroom. His right hand almost made a greedy, impulsive motion to a half-empty bottle of wine on the kitchen counter that he walked past, but he was too emotional to be drinking tonight. Even alcohol wouldn’t soothe his confused soul. Maybe he should save it for tomorrow morning so he’d feel less shit facing Frank again.

He didn’t even know what they were doing tomorrow. Neither of them did.

Matt entered his bedroom, then slammed the door shut behind him. There was no particular reason for him to do so. He just wanted to make a point.

Matt was feeling absolutely awful, and who could blame him? The past few days had been a complete rollercoaster of emotions: finding Frank’s lifeless body in the warehouse; the argument that followed; meeting Frank again and hearing his truthful confession the next morning; and their journey to the medical company. Throughout them all, there had been a million instances when Frank seemed keen to kiss him. A million moments when the only thing either of them wanted was to hold the other.

And then it happens. There is a struggle and an argument, and it leads to Matt being pinned to the wall like he deserves. Frank puts his hand on his throat and the only thing Matt can do is spill out his feelings. What follows is a tangible build-up of electricity and then, finally, that first moment of true intimacy. Kisses on exposed pieces of skin. Hands where they’re not supposed to be.

It ought to have ended with them fucking each other on the floor while they tried to forget where they were and what had happened, but it never did.

They almost get it over with, sex that is, and suddenly Frank claims it’s not desirable anymore. Suddenly it’s wrong and unholy and the last thing Frank wants to be doing. He shows Matt the door of the café they frequent under the pretence that he ought to get some sleep and leaves his almost-lover to ponder what had just happened. _And_ he had neglected to tell Matt that he owned a single vial of counter-medicine.

Is this not what they both wanted? Is this not what this entire mission had been about? Had they not been destined to kiss and touch each other like that ever since the day they met?

Matt sighed as he remembered the way Frank spoke to him at him at the café. If this mission was going to end with them just pretending that this had never ever happened, he might as well throw in the towel now. Let Frank figure it all out on his own if he thinks he’s doing such a great job on his own.

He needed sleep. In his annoyance, Matt accidentally bumped his elbow against his nightstand as he crawled into bed. He let out an exasperated grunt and rolled over onto his side, his naked back facing the nightstand as if he were angry with it. He hated today.

More than ever did Matt want to have Frank with him tonight. He wanted to be together like that morning, when they touched each other’s scars and almost, almost took things to a whole other level when Frank touched him in a place he shouldn’t have. Matt was really counting on that to happen after all that they’d been through.

But it never did. (Matt had conveniently forgotten that _he_ was the one who decided to go up and pick up the phone. Frank had very little do to with it.)

Thankfully, Matt was too tired and generally too kind a lover to hold his grudge for long. Slowly his mood mellowed. The attorney in him was already beginning to see both sides of their argument. Frank had been distracted this entire mission, and going back home with Matt and finishing what they started in the cold storage at the medical facility might not have been the best of decisions. If anything, it would have distracted Frank to the point of making yet more mistakes on the day it mattered most to be vigilant. With this mission potentially almost coming to an end, it would pay to avoid those errors.

_‘That guy provoked me. I got distracted. I’m not going to let that happen to me anymore. You know? I can’t let that happen, not while my dog’s still out there. I owe that to him, and — and I know you’re probably going to tell me that everything’s going to be fine and all that shit, but we don’t know that. We won’t until we finish this mission.’_

That had said it all, really. Frank thought everything was on him. _Everything_.

Maybe Frank had done everyone a big favour by saying what he had. Maybe being separated was all they needed tonight.

Matt decided that the only thing he could do was let the subject go. He had to if he wanted to go into the next part of the mission undisturbed by his personal issues. So Frank _hadn’t_ been keen to spend the night with him. Big deal. Another opportunity would come later if they managed to end this task alive.

Careful not to injure his elbow again, Matt slowly rolled onto his back and listened to the sounds around him. He always tried to focus on a single sound if he had trouble falling asleep.

But tonight, he again heard everything.

He heard the _drip-drop_ , _drip-drop_ , _drip-drop_ of water from the rain pipes outside his window. He heard dogs, far away. Not the ones they were looking for. He heard a young boy jumping into puddles. He overheard a conversation four blocks away, featuring a man who wanted to propose to his girlfriend and didn’t know what ring he should buy. He heard cars. Bicycles. The soft shuffling of sheets beneath his half-naked body. His own breathing. And if he listened very, very carefully, he could even pick up Frank’s heartbeat, as elevated as it had been when they fought criminals together.

For a split second Matt worried. If Frank was out there fighting criminals on his own —

If his injuries still hadn’t healed — he’d be in as much trouble as he had been last night —

But then Matt heard something other than Frank’s heartbeat, and Matt instantly knew that his lover’s heart was not beating fast because of a criminal. It was elevated because —

_Oh_.

_Oh fuck._

Certain sounds entered Matt’s slipstream without him asking to, and he swallowed hard. Frank was _definitely_ not beating up baddies tonight.

Matt half-tried focussing on sounds closer by, but he kept honing in on Frank’s instead. The vigilante was streets, blocks away, and yet Matt heard everything he did in perfect, dirty detail: the shifting of the pillow behind his head; the rapid crescendo of his heartbeat; the sound of skin against skin; the drops of sweat running down his temple and the motion of his fingers.

The gentlemanly thing to do would be to put on some music and tune out the noise, but Matt suddenly didn’t feel like being a gentleman tonight.

_Fuck nice._

Suddenly feeling very awake indeed, Matt honed in on the sound of Frank’s heartbeat and slowly slid his hand into his boxers. The faraway ghost of Frank’s voice let out a gasp, and so did Matt as he squeezed himself just right. Shit, this felt wrong.

A loud truck rushed past Matt’s street, but he hardly heard it. He was too busy trying to make his sounds match’s Frank’s.

He had never imagined that he’d ever misuse his powers like this.

(Truth be told, Matt didn’t even know he could use them like this in the first place. He’d make an oral note of it on his phone, but his hand was too busy doing something else.)

Pleasure was already bubbling in Matt’s stomach. He was biting on his lip so hard that it bled. Even previous fist fights hadn’t made his hand feel so goddamn sore.

Matt stayed like this for ten minutes. Touching; listening.

The voice in his ears let out one final, delicious moan, and Matt followed suit just as his mind jumped back to that evening. He and Frank both slumped back into their beds satisfied and not knowing how utterly fuckable the other looked, and they almost, almost managed to sleep nightmare-free.

Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow, their mission would come to a screeching, howling halt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank does something that makes him smile for the first time in about seven chapters.

Frank was already sitting at their usual table when Matt arrived at the bar-stroke-café the next day. This being a quiet Saturday morning in an unusually safe part of town – Frank had made sure of that, thank you very much –, the bar was now not only filled with vigilantes but also families; young girls with their girlfriends; a young couple; an old lady and her Chihuahua that Frank was _not_ staring at enviously; and at the table behind him, a group of students were huddled over exam papers and course books. This was not the time and place to be wearing weathered superhero suits. Matt’s needed a wash anyway.

Instead, Matt had opted for his one of his grey business suits today. Frank was wearing a casual leather jacket and an old baseball cap he’d once borrowed from a friend and never returned. He also wasn’t planning to ever give back the shirt he’d borrowed from Matt a lifetime ago. He may still need it one day. For reasons.

Matt slowly made his way to their table. He had only woken up half an hour ago: he quickly downed the glass of water on his bedside table, had a meagre breakfast in his kitchen and got dressed. He sped-walked out of the door, cane in hand, with only a few minutes to spare. He again didn’t notice the man who was standing opposite his house, but then again Matt hadn’t noticed him breaking into his house in the middle of the night either.

Halfway across the bar, he bumped into a chair by accident. The chair tumbled to the floor with a loud _clang_ and two waitresses instantly sped to his and the chair’s rescue. He mumbled a half-whispered apology at the two girls and finally felt his fingers brush the damaged top of his and Frank’s table. He recognised it because Frank had once tried putting a knife into it. (Frank had gotten into a conflict with an abusive husband and almost ended up cutting the bastard’s hands off. Frank had thankfully gotten off with a stern warning from the bar owner; the husband was told never to return ever again.)

Matt put his cane to one side, sat down and waited for Frank to say something snarky.

‘You looked real smooth walking in here, Red,’ Frank huffed after he’d given his partner a once-over. ‘Something’s rattled your superhero senses?’

Matt said nothing. Only the subtle blush on his face slightly betrayed him. Deep down he felt glad to be talking about something that wasn’t the mission. _God_ , how he hated that seven-lettered word now. Their conversations always consisted of that one word: the ‘mission’. Sometimes, the ‘task’. He wished they could talk of dates instead, but alas; this wasn’t a date.

Frank went on in his usual sarcastic voice, ‘Do you need help getting up later or will you be all right?’

‘I’m all right, thank you Frank.’

He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him Matt almost enjoyed the familiarity of being made fun of. Perhaps they were finally making progress here in spite of how much it felt as if they were never taking proper steps forward at all.

It was hard to tell by the way he spoke or moved, but Frank looked a little better than he did yesterday. The bags under his eyes were gone and a lot of his wounds had already started healing. He’d even remembered to take some painkillers. He was, put simply, finally taking care of himself now. (He still sounded a little grouchy, though.)

A waitress came over to their table and asked them if they’d like to order something. Matt ordered coffee while Frank claimed that he still had more than enough caffè latte, thank you ma’am.

A wordless four minutes later the waitress arrived with Matt’s coffee and made a careful effort to put it within his reach. When the waitress had gone to serve the famished students to their right, Matt clumsily reached for the sugar pot and almost covered the table with a large pile of sugar by accident. On the second try, the sugar perfectly landed into his lap.

A second later, Frank gave a loud, acquiescing grunt and took Matt’s cup and filled it with an unhealthy amount of sugar for him. He then angrily shoved the coffee cup back into Matt’s grasp but not without letting his hands linger on Matt’s for _just_ that little longer. Foggy would have killed Matt for using his blindness like that.

Except Matt hadn’t done it on purpose. He thought he had, but that wasn’t the case at all. Something was up with his powers, but he was still too high on last night and his future intake of sugar to notice.

Matt stirred his coffee long and thoughtfully. ‘I hope you didn’t get up to anything stupid last night, Frank?’

There followed a long, long silence. Matt thought he could hear Frank’s heart skip a beat. ‘Yeah, I actually went out and saved my dog without you, Red,’ Frank grunted by way of masking what he’d truly gotten up to last night. ‘I’m just here to have a nice fucking chat.’

A smile played on Matt’s lips. He doubted Frank had been this grumpy after he collapsed into his pillow.

‘Well, if it’s any consolation, _I_ slept like a baby, Frank.’ Matt made a deliberate attempt to leave a challenging moment of silence by putting the coffee cup to his lips and taking a small sip. It tasted terrible. Very sugary. ‘Went to bed the moment I came home. Have you ever tried that? You should try it.’

Frank’s face had gone the same colour as a tomato. It was something Matt couldn’t even imagine the tough Punisher being capable of. ‘Thanks, Red. I will once I stop having nightmares about canines chewing my face off.’

It was odd how a single night apart had changed their moods. They’d again gone back to spitting snarky comments at each other. It might not have been the best way of having a conversation, but it was the only way they wouldn’t accidentally admit still wanting to sleep with each other. It would also not betray the high they were still on after the wanks they’d had.

Of course, only Matt knew what was truly going on here. He’d _heard_.

There was still an unspoken frustration, though. Matt still found himself wishing Frank hadn’t called him a ‘distraction’, and Frank still wished Matt hadn’t stopped kissing/rubbing/groping him in that cold storage. Had their meetings occurred under different circumstances, they would not currently be hiding their true feelings under layers of sarcasm and sugar. They would probably also be meeting in a place that didn’t serve such bad coffee. If they ever made it to a first proper date, Matt would drag Frank to a proper restaurant he couldn’t even afford.

Matt took another sip. ‘Speaking of canines, what are we going to do about yours?’

Frank cleared his throat. He was more than happy to talk about something else. ‘The recalled batches of medicine are all kept in a warehouse just south of here. No security. I’ve heard rumours that the criminals are heading there tonight to get their grubby little fingers on more meds and enhance the dogs they took. Meaning they’re taking the poor things with them.’

‘You’re sure about this?’

‘Positive. I contacted Roger this morning to confirm.’ Roger was the head of the company who was behind the distribution of these dangerous dog meds. Upon finding out that there was something wrong with them, he immediately had them recalled. While Frank and Matt slept, every shop and vet counter was emptied of every single dog medicine the company had ever made. They were now all kept in one place; perfect for the criminals that sought them.

But to Matt, this didn’t sound like good news at all. He felt his chest tighten. If the criminals were dragging the dogs along so that they could enhance them further, it could mean they’d be taking _all_ dogs. Including Frank’s. Tonight might _really_ be the final day of their chase — for better or for worse. Frank must have known that too.

‘You’ve still got the vial of counter-medicine you found?’

Matt could hear Frank nod. ‘No-one’s going to take it from me. They’ll be in a whole lot of trouble if they try.’

‘You still haven’t really explained to me what you’re going to do with it.’

Silence. Frank slowly finished his caffè latte and then put his coffee cup back on the table so loudly that Matt started. ‘You know damn well what I’m going to do with it, Red,’ he added in a whisper when the guests and waitresses around them shot angry glances at him. ‘And I don’t care if you don’t approve of it.’

Matt tried listening to Frank’s heartbeat for a clue, a sign, but all his mind did was conjure up a snapshot of last night: the way Matt touched himself to Frank’s heartbeat; Frank’s faraway gasps; how he wished his own hand was Frank’s; and how badly he needed Frank to kiss him after he’d come and collapsed into his pillow. Frank’s current heartbeat betrayed nothing but Matt’s own feelings.

Matt quickly tried to think of something else and settled on a question neither of them had figured out yet. It involved just one word. Matt uttered it right after he’d taken another sip of mediocre coffee. ‘Why, though?’ he thought out loud. ‘Why take these dogs? We still don’t know.’

‘Beats me, Red. Why do you care, anyway? I thought they were just damn animals to you.’

That stung. It was true, Matt _had_ said it out loud: ‘ _It's just a pet._ _A_ pet _, Frank. Is your dog really more important than all the other dogs that were taken without their owner’s permission? What difference does it make?_ ’ It was that comment that had led to Matt being pinned to the wall and facing Frank’s fury over his missing dog, but that didn’t make it less hurtful. It didn’t make it less callous. Clearly, Frank wouldn’t let Matt forget it any time soon.

‘You know I only said that because I was worried about you,’ Matt muttered.  

‘You have a funny way of showing it. You just wait, Red. I’m gonna show you what having a pet really does to people.’

It was a weird threat and one that Matt didn’t know how to react to. He quietly continued stirring his coffee as he considered the possibilities. Was Frank going to lock him up in a dog kennel and see how he fared? Was he one day going to show up with a Chihuahua in his hands and drop the poor thing into his lap? He really hoped Frank wouldn’t do the latter. (Frank was going to do the latter.)

‘Anyway,’ Frank went on, ‘maybe they’re selling them off or something.’

‘With the amount of injuries they’re likely to get in fights? I doubt it.’

‘Have they, though? Been used in fights, I mean. If someone’s been organizing underground dog fights, we’d probably know about it by now. Especially you with your damn _super_ hearing.’

Matt’s heart dropped into this stomach. Could Frank have —? ‘I – I don’t — technically I can’t . . .’ He almost knocked over his cup of coffee by accident. ‘Sorry, what were you talking about?’

‘I was saying that we’d know if these dogs had been used in dog fights. They haven’t. I’ve seen plenty of bastards use their dogs in dog fights and trust me, they were nothing like the people we’re up against now. This is different.’

Matt was quick to utter a sound of agreement. ‘That would suggest the dogs are being saved for something. Lock them away, feed them enhancing medicines and then — and then what, Frank? What’s the point?’

Frank couldn’t give an answer. Matt had by now reached the end of his coffee. He scooped the remnants of half-molten sugar onto his spoon and licked it off so slowly that it was now Frank’s time to reminisce about last night’s fantasies. ( _His_ self-exploratory session had involved a bit more manoeuvring than Matt’s ears had picked up on.) If he ever found out Matt had been listening in, he would punch the attorney so hard that he’d bleed for the rest of the month.

Thankfully Frank never got the chance to consider the possibility. His gaze fell on a man who had just entered the café. He was wearing sunglasses and a thick, black winter jacket that looked to hide more than just the beginnings of a beer belly.

Frank knew instantly that this man was armed and dangerous.

He tried to speak to Matt as casually as possible. ‘An armed man just entered the café. Looks nervous. I think he’s looking for us.’ The man in black not so subtly looked around the room, and Frank quickly turned his face to the wall to stare at a poster of Marilyn Monroe. ‘Yeah. Definitely looking for us.’

Matt heard the man’s heartbeat. It stood out because it was rapid while everyone else’s was steady. The way he moved was odd too; a lot of quick movements. No fluidity in the way he looked around. The weapon underneath his shirt and jacket scraped against the cotton fabric.

He must be new at this. Maybe he was young. Maybe he’d been dragged into this mess like the man Frank had met and seen killed at the port.  Knowing this was a relief but also posed danger. What if he accidentally injured an innocent bystander? What if he wasn’t here to kill Matt and Frank at all but create havoc?

What if he wasn’t with the dognappers at all?

No — he must have been. Frank and Matt may not have been popular, but criminals didn’t just follow them around unless they had a really good reason. This guy was one of _them_.

Matt nodded in Frank’s general direction. ‘What do we do?’

He could hear Frank think. Not literally, of course, but he could tell from the stiffening of his leather jacket that he’d come up with a plan. He could tell from the cracking of knuckles that Frank was about to go into this _his_ way – fighting. Beating people up. Causing yet more danger for the people all around them. It wasn’t the best way to go about it, but it was the only way they _had_.

Why was fighting always the only thing they had going for them?

Matt could already envision himself throwing his cane at the man in black. He could help Frank take him out. They wouldn’t even have to endanger the people around them, for everything in the café was a potential weapon: the hot coffee on the students’ table, the knives, the plates, the sugar pots on the countertops. This would not have to end with Frank drawing this gun. They’d be able to take out the criminals before the couple at the adjacent table could look up. Any old plan would do. Matt hadn’t expected it to involve Frank kissing him.

There was a wild flurry of a heartbeat. A calloused, familiar hand crept onto his neck and Matt felt the unmistakeable sensation of Frank’s lips on his.

Matt hadn’t heard it coming.

He smelt Frank’s strong cologne; felt his stubble against his skin. Instantly there followed a split second of doubts, of shock, of _whatever the hell is this?_ —and then they simply gave in. A peck turned into something more. A dozen heartbeats in this crowded café turned into just the one: Frank’s. And how _fast_ it ticked.

Hungrily they kissed each other behind the cover of Frank’s baseball cap. He was holding it up in front of their faces so the man in black wouldn’t see, wouldn’t notice; wouldn’t think Frank Castle and Matt Murdock would ever be kissing.

Perhaps they _had_ something going for them: not a single adversary knew about the Punisher and Daredevil’s feelings for one other.  

Matt thought he could taste tongue. Frank’s stubble continued scraping against Matt’s own and sent pinpricks of pleasure down his skin until the pinpricks turned into waves and the single, nervous heartbeat in the background disappeared and Frank let go. He put the baseball cap back on his head and casually readjusted Matt’s collar. It was as if it had never even happened.

But it had. Oh, it had.

‘He’s gone,’ said Frank, referring to the man in black. He sounded hoarse.

Matt resisted the urge to put his fingers to his own lips. They had tingled the entire time. Matt had forgotten that could happen.

He cleared his throat. ‘That was a good call, Frank. Very — very good.’

The usually so cool attorney struggled to come up with anything else to say, so he put his coffee cup to his mouth and found its contents empty. He’d already forgotten that he finished his coffee minutes ago.

‘Don’t get used to it, Red,’ Frank groaned, but he secretly sounded pleased. Happy. He actually sounded happy.

‘Shouldn’t we go after him?’

‘No,’ Frank argued flatly. ‘And do you know why, Red? Because them looking for us means they’re _scared_. It means they’re worried. They know we’re coming and I’m sure as hell planning to scare the hell out of them when we finally do. Besides,’ he added almost gleefully, ‘I’d love to see that stupid fucker’s face when he returns to his boss and tells him he lost us, you know. Let’s watch them all fail. Ma’am?’

Frank waved at the waitress, and a minute later she arrived with the bill. The boys had to reach deep into their pockets to get the $11.30 together.

After they’d paid, Frank got up from his chair and helpfully handed Matt his cane. ‘And just another thing, Murdock,’ he said, again with that strange, happy tilt at the end, ‘you’re a really crap kisser.’


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe again refuses to give Frank and Matt a break.

_Frank’s wearing a tuxedo. No, it’s not a tuxedo. It’s just a formal dress shirt that’s been buttoned down from the top. He probably looks handsome._

_Matt laughs inwardly at that. He’s lucky; his boyfriend is handsome._

_Frank gently takes his hand and leads them to their table. Frank’s hands feel soft today._

_The restaurant is busy. It’s pleasant. Happy couples and cliques of friends are chatting all around them. The air smells of pasta and freshly baked salmon and reminds Matt of better days. Warm candles have been lit on the tables; freshly cleaned curtains have been drawn slightly._

_The chair Frank leads him to feels soft and pleasant to the touch. He sits and feels his feet brush Frank’s legs._

_Matt moves his feet again. What he thought were Frank’s calves were just the legs of the table._

_He wishes Frank would touch him._

||

Frank and Matt never started their missions together. That is to say, they would always meet up somewhere in the middle of the night and go from there. They hardly, if ever, went to the other guy’s house to go over their plans and stroll leisurely to a criminal headquarters like a questionable couple out on a late-night date. It was almost as if they didn’t dare visit. Matt’s apartment meant trouble; a visit to Frank’s heralded an argument.  

If the boys ever _did_ end up going on a date together they would probably meet up at the restaurant or bar the date was taking place. Frank would never in a million years be seen picking up Matt Murdock at his apartment. 

But today something urged Frank to do things a little differently. Something told him he should.

After he and Matt had paid for their coffee and left the café, they again went their separate ways to change into their respective superhero suits and prepare for the challenges they’d be facing. (See how inefficient this is? They’d be saving so much time if they just, you know, hooked up and started living together.) Frank even tried to chase down the ‘man in black’ from earlier, but he didn’t get much farther than an abandoned warehouse in a relatively safe neighbourhood. They really _had_ to wait for tonight if they wanted to catch the criminals in the act.

Frank strolled back to his house at a slow pace. He knew that once he donned his suit, the end would be nearer than ever. There was no way that tonight wouldn’t end in the deaths of a dozen criminals and, finally, a reunion with his dog. It was just that sort of day. He felt it in the way he walked the pavement and brushed the leaves off his shoulders. This had finality written all over it.

Whether the reunion would end happily remained yet to be seen.

He made his way back to his house at a quarter to twelve. He got dressed and made sure his guns were loaded. His single vial of counter-medicine, that precious item he needed if he ever wanted to save his dog, was hidden in a place no-one would dare look. He also took a kitchen knife with him for good measure (some bastards didn’t deserve being shot in the head) and swallowed another painkiller. The majority of his wounds had healed by now, but he didn’t want to take his chances. He wanted to go into this guns blazing and free of pain. The real pain would come later.

He hoped it would.

Only when Frank had made 100% sure that he had everything he needed, did he allow himself to reminisce about that morning’s kiss. He hadn’t intended it to happen today, but the moment just was so _perfect_. It was everything he didn’t think it would be but everything he needed: how he felt Matt’s stubble scrape against his skin; the way the attorney looked into the distance next with not a faded, faraway look on his face but with all the intensity of someone who wanted _more_ ; and then Matt’s clumsiness that preceded it as if he already knew exactly what was coming —

Frank was just about to head out of the door when he stopped. He felt a foreboding feeling in his stomach.

Matt had been _clumsy._ Matt Murdock did a lot of stupid things, but not that. He was never consciously clumsy unless he had a very good reason to.

Frank thought back to that morning. In his mind’s eye, he saw the chair in the café being knocked over.

The sugar pot.

The way Matt had not seen Frank’s kiss coming even though his – Frank’s – heartbeat had definitely already betrayed his intentions.

Matt hadn’t done them on purpose. He’d knocked over that chair, but why? There wasn’t a good reason to. They didn’t yet know there was a criminal in their midst.

And that sugar pot? Sure, Frank had used it to sneak in a quick touch, but this wasn’t how his partner played the game.

Frank changed his mind in the doorway.

He wasn’t going to head to their meeting place first this time.

||

_They politely order their meals. Frank orders ravioli verdi with ricotta, mozzarella and spinach while Matt settles for a simple pizza Margherita with extra oregano. The food arrives quickly and the waitress is kind. She tells them what a handsome couple they make and they both blush like schoolboys._

_They drink to their health and Matt hears how Frank downs the entire glass in one go. He’s nervous. It’s endearing. His heartbeat betrays dark intentions._

_Content to just sit back and enjoy, Matt listens to Frank once again retelling the story of his lucky escape at the warehouse. He tells of guns and dogfights; the criminals he took down; and finally, the reunion with his dog that followed. He doesn’t leave out a single detail. Sometimes, he pauses to eat his ravioli. He says it’s the best ravioli he’s ever had and jokes about the shit food the two of them used to eat at their local café._

_They haven’t been to the café for two weeks now._

||

When Matt came home that morning, he went through more or less the same process as Frank.

He slipped into his Daredevil suit.

He checked out his weapons: two short sticks held together by an extendable, almost bendy cable, and a knife. He didn’t use them much these days. He preferred to use his fists; his body. It was something he’d learned from his partner.

He made sure he was mentally prepared. His heartbeat was unchangeable. His breathing felt calm. He wasn’t looking forward to tonight, but he wasn’t dreading it either. It was sort of _there_ , in the periphery of his future. It felt like the exams he had to take in law school but never gave much thought; he knew they had to be done but he didn’t think about them. Thinking came later.

He drank more water.

He went through the memory of his kiss one more time and headed to the door.

It almost felt as if the kiss had erased their previous arguments and made everything whole again. It didn’t matter that Frank had called Matt a distraction. It didn’t matter that Matt had thought Frank careless and that they had allowed so many moments to turn into missed opportunities. They had finally kissed. It was all that mattered.

They could do this. They _could_.

Except —

Matt was about to head out of the door when his left ear started ringing.

It _ached_.  

He made a poor step forward and bumped into the kitchen counter.

Sudden dizziness overtook him.

He fell over and found the world around him growing smaller and smaller and smaller. His stomach ached; it burned.

Smells he had previously not noticed turned into nuisances: the too-clean laundry; a strong scent of disinfectant; the smell of blood.

His body hurt until he couldn’t feel anything anymore.  

He cried out; he failed.

||

_Frank touches his right hand and he listens, enraptured, until one by one the sounds around him fade. The scraping of cutlery stops. The faint sound of cooking, gone. He can’t hear any heartbeats. Doesn’t notice the change in temperature when a waiter is asked to open a window. He can’t tell whether Frank is lying when he says the wine tastes great._

_The wine tastes poor._

||

He couldn’t hear Frank’s heartbeat. He couldn’t hear it he couldn’t hear it he couldn’t hear it —

His head felt empty. His heart, cold.

Normally the world around him would reverberate. It would echo like a thousand shouts in a cave, a million little footsteps in city streets. It would guide him and shape his environment into a near-perfect 3D silhouette with each step, cough, sneeze, scrape and touch he heard. He couldn’t see, but he _heard_. He _saw_. He knew.

Matt would never be able to see the curve of Frank’s lips or watch him get undressed in the bare environments of his bedroom, but his ears were doing a pretty good job at pretending. If he tried, he could almost picture it. He could see the line of Frank’s stomach and then his perfect, perfect chest as he took his shirt off and led Matt to the bed. He could envision the shape of Frank’s hips as he made love to him. _God_ , was he going to try picturing it if they ever got there.

But now, it felt as though Matt was in a soundproof room without texture. He heard everything but it told him nothing.

The faint footsteps outside his apartment held no meaning.

The angry knocks on his door meant fuck-all. 

He didn’t understand his own racing heartbeat when he tried getting up from the floor and found it absolutely impossible.

The carpet under his palm was just that; a carpet. It contained no secrets. He didn’t sense the rise of a person’s body temperature as the knocking on the door continued.

Shouting. Whose?

He didn’t recognise the familiar, sinful cologne that lingered in the hallway.

He was no longer aware of his own breathing when his door was kicked in and he felt a stranger’s hands pick him up.

He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t. He was too weak, too tired.

Then Matt recognised him. It was _his_ stranger. Frank. His.

‘Jesus, Red, you’re burning up.’

Matt kept mumbling that he could no longer hear Frank’s heartbeat. His head started spinning when Frank gently laid him down on his bed. The mattress felt like quicksand. It was sucking him in.

He needed air.

Frank made a movement to get up and open a window, but Matt pulled him back on the bed by his arm. It was a clumsy grab; one of a blind person.

‘I can’t hear your heartbeat, Frank,’ he mumbled. He sounded delirious. ‘I can’t — I can’t . . .’

Frank took Matt’s hand and placed it on his chest, right where his heart was. It was racing. It was terrified. ‘I’m right here, Red. I’m right here,’ was the last thing Matt heard before collapsing into his pillow again for all the wrong reasons.

||

_He doesn’t hear Frank coming when he kisses him. He no longer smells the pasta or salmon. He only tastes the blood on his lips and smells the rotting of flesh when Frank pulls him closer._

_It’s not a good kiss._

_Blood stains their clothes and spills out onto their dishes until the spill turns into a ruby ocean and Matt wakes up in his bed alone._

He’s lost his powers.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like that, Frank decides to leave again.

He rides out his orgasm and drops his head onto his pillow. It’s almost soft and plump enough to send him right to sleep. He doesn’t bother cleaning the mess because the last, wet traces on his taut stomach remind him of how delicious Frank sounded when he came. He wonders if he’s good and experienced enough to one day draw those sounds from Frank himself.

He laughs as his eyes droop closed; of course he is.  

As the last sounds of the night slowly become blurred, time speeds up and Matt finds himself being pulled into a different world where everything is better and more beautiful. He dreams about Frank and doesn’t stir when a man clad in black enters his apartment through his window; he’s too far gone for that.

The man in black finds a half-empty glass of water on Matt’s bedside table and pours a strange, white powder into it. The powder instantly becomes one with the water and leaves no trace of ever having existed.

For a moment, the man stares at the glass of water. The idea of just killing the attorney in his sleep momentarily enters his train of thought, but then he remembers his mission. This is not about Murdock. Ultimately, this is not about crossing people off at all.

All he and his cronies want is beautiful, unadulterated chaos.

He knows it sounds far-fetched, stupid, unbelievable, but that’s just how it is. Tomorrow night, they’ll own enough enhanced dogs to make the city their playground. With an army of wolves at their sides, everything – and he really does mean _everything_ – will be theirs for the taking.

Even The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen isn’t going to stop them now.

||

The poison was so strong that it took Frank two tries to wake Matt up.

When Matt finally did manage to wake, he found himself sitting on a high chair that disallowed his feet to touch the ground.

Some awkward, reaching touches in the empty space in front of him confirmed that he was sitting on one of his bar stools at the kitchen counter. Judging by the breeze that ran over his naked arms, Frank had somehow managed to squeeze him out of his Daredevil suit and dressed him up in a simple t-shirt and what felt like jogging pants.

The thought that Frank had probably again seen him half-naked was too childish to occur to him. Instead, a more pressing thought made a deep, stifling bout of anxiety sweep over him like a wave.

He instantly realized that his powers were gone.

Frank draped a blanket over his shoulders. Matt almost recoiled at the unexpected gesture and Frank had to squeeze his shoulder to remind him that he was safe and alive.

‘How are you feeling?’ Frank asked him. He made no effort whatsoever to hide the worry in his voice. It was the only thing Matt’s ears were able to pick up on. ‘There’s a cup of tea on your right, by the way. Earl Grey or something. Made it myself, so you better enjoy it.’

Matt frowned. The last time Matt had served Frank tea, on the first morning of their mission, when they’d first learned about the people behind the kidnappings, Frank had loudly claimed he thought tea was below him. That morning seemed so far away from the disasters they’d since faced; on that day, the most troubling thing was a shaking Chihuahua.

‘ _Tea_?’

‘Just checking if you could tell I’m lying. Guess you really took a hit, huh, Red? Do you think it’ll last forever? Would be quite crap if it did.’

Matt said nothing. He slowly reached for the so-called cup of tea on the kitchen counter. He carefully took it and held the cup under his nose. He could tell that it was coffee, but that’s where his usually so powerful deductive skills ended. There was none of that distinctiveness; none of the stories that tastes and aromas usually held for him. It was as if every single one of his senses had been turned off. Like when Matt realized he was blind all those years ago, when he was young and terrified and oh so fragile, he couldn’t gain information from a single thing around him. Everything was just _there_.

Matt tasted the coffee. Insipid. He tried again but tasted only the watery, bitter taste of what _might_ be cheap coffee beans. He could not taste the milk and sugar Frank had put into it.

He put the cup back down. ‘I feel numb,’ he finally admitted. The bitter taste of coffee still lingered on his tongue, and he almost tried savouring it. ‘Powerless. They took my powers, Frank. They came in here, those — those men, and they took my powers.’ He pulled the blanket around his body tighter. He had never felt so vulnerable before. ‘It was the glass of water, wasn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I should’ve known. I should’ve tasted it. Felt it. Now I can’t feel anything anymore.’

Frank mulled this statement over. ‘So if I punched you in the face you wouldn’t see it coming?’

‘Guess not.’

‘ _Hm_. I could be stark naked right now, you know.’

Mark laughed weakly. ‘You’re not, Frank.’

Frank laughed too, but only because it would stop him from worrying. Matt Murdock never warranted much anxiety but for the moments when Frank felt like kissing him and didn’t go through with it, but seeing Matt like this just _ached_ at him.

If there was one person in the world who couldn’t, shouldn’t look helpless, it was Daredevil. Daredevil was a righteous pain in the ass, but he was still strong. People still envied and loved him for what he’d done for this city. He was the person criminals feared and hoped they’d never come across.

And yet here he was, a mere, blind mortal who had no more superpowers than Frank did.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. Right when Frank remembered Matt’s odd behaviour in the café, he knew something was up. He legged it to Matt’s house and instantly knocked in the door when Matt didn’t respond. He eventually found Matt on the kitchen floor. Delirious. Dying.

After a bit of a struggle, Frank finally managed to rid Matt’s body of his Daredevil suit and put him to bed. He almost didn’t wake up again.

Frank literally _felt_ Matt’s soul slip away. He held Matt in his hands as the attorney mumbled about heartbeats and nightmares, and the only thing Frank could do was tighten his embrace and hope the delirium would fade and Matt’s temperature would lower.

It did, eventually. But only when Frank kissed his temple again and again and promised him he was safe.

He was safe. Safe, alive, and blissfully unaware how worried Frank had gotten about him because hell would freeze over before the Punisher would ever truly admit it.

Frank figured out there was poison in the glass of water on Matt’s bedside table pretty quickly. Someone must’ve come in and poisoned it while Matt was asleep. It was a coward’s attack; a desperate last resort to disable the competition. It meant that the people they were up against were afraid: only men who dreaded facing their enemies would try temporarily removing them from the battlefield.

If you thought of it like that, Matt’s poisoning was almost a good sign. Had the dognappers really been certain of their plans, they would have taken the two of them on head-first.

But it didn’t stop how utterly _sad_ Matt looked. And how scared he was.

Matt absently ran his fingers over the rim of his coffee cup. Mentally, he looked as if he was miles away. ‘I think it’s very telling that we keep meeting each other like this, Frank,’ he pondered. ‘First when I had to take care of you when you’d been attacked in the warehouse, and then —’ He swallowed his words. He didn’t want to mention it. Deep down, he wished he were capable of looking Frank in the eye so that he could confront him about what they kept doing to each other. ‘What does that make us?’

‘Really shit at our jobs.’

Matt didn’t laugh at that, so Frank promptly warned Matt that he was going to grab his hand and squeeze it.

It felt cold. Unfamiliar.

It made Frank decide he wasn’t going to answer Matt’s question. ‘You _know_ I can finish this thing tonight, Red. After this, we — after this it’ll be over. We won’t have to chase those damn bastards ever again and I promise you that I’ll have made sure that they paid for what they did to you. But it _needs_ to happen tonight. I won’t be able to live myself if I don’t finish this now. God knows what they’ll do to those dogs if I don’t stop them.’

Matt had a feeling he and Frank had had this conversation before. Today. He must’ve dozed off in the middle of it.

Whatever the criminals had given him, whatever concoction was confusing the part of his body that made him able and supernatural, it was strong. It not only rid him of his powers, but it made him tired. It worked like any drug he’d ever taken — medical or otherwise.

This thought gave him hope: if the poison had taken the entire morning to kick in, its effects might also wear off.

Frank must’ve known that too.

‘I can’t let you go out there on your own, Frank,’ he pleaded. ‘If we just wait a couple of hours . . . The poison _has_ to fade, Frank. It just has to.’

‘We don’t _have_ hours, Red. It’s eight o’clock.’

This realization made Matt’s stomach drop like a stone. He’d been out for almost twelve hours. And what’s more, the criminals were going to break into the medicine warehouse _in just over two hours_.

‘Red, are you listening to me? I’ve got two fucking hours. I can’t sit and wait here for you to get better.’

Again with the _I_. Never _we_. Never him and Matt together. It’s how it had been this entire mission.

Matt pulled his hand from underneath Frank’s. He looked sadder and more bereaved than ever. ‘After what happened last time, do you really still believe you’re better off on your own? Do you really think you’ll be safe without me?’ The desperation in his voice sounded crystal clear. ‘I mean, Christ, Frank, the warehouse; the _port_ . . . If only we wait for a little longer, just an _hour_ , we—’

Frank cut Matt’s sentence short. ‘The only reason I got hurt at the port was because I’d lost my gun and because some poor fucker decided to get shot. Not my fault. And you seemed pretty fucking happy touching my wounds after, anyway,’ he added for no reason but to shut Matt up. It did the trick: Matt turned as red as his suit and pulled the blanket around his shoulders even tighter as if he felt like disappearing in its folds.

Frank still thought about that morning at the port daily. The guilt he felt after he saw someone get shot, and then the realization that hit him after; the realization that he loved Matt dearly and wanted to be with him — now _those_ were two things he wouldn’t forget soon. He’d been through countless terrible, terrible days when he was still trying to save the streets of Hell’s Kitchen on his own, but now that he had something – some _one_ – to live for again, someone to cherish and potentially – one day – love, every single moment of badness felt a million time worse.

But he still had to do this without him. And Matt, deep down, knew that.

The conflicted attorney had proceeded to ponderously trace the rim of his coffee cup with his fingers. He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to convince Frank of staying. There was also no point in coming with him; he really _was_ completely blind. And even if he took his cane with him, he wouldn’t be able to fight. He wouldn’t be able to hear the criminals coming. They’d probably slit his throat without him noticing.

Frank was right: all he could do right now was stay here. Stay here, and beg Frank to be careful.

‘Please promise you’ll be careful, Frank.’ Matt sounded defeated.

‘I will.’

‘And that you won’t do anything impulsive like jumping into water or getting into a fight with a dog.’

‘I won’t, Red. I promise,’ Frank vowed before getting up from his stool. ‘You just try getting that poison out of your system.’

Matt didn’t have it in him to point out that the criminals had probably poisoned him because they knew Frank was the impulsive one. Frank could be taken out with a single comment about his precious dog. Matt Murdock, the attorney, was impartial. He had never known the pleasures of having a pet. He had the advantage of his powers.

Frank’s only advantage was that no-one knew how The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen felt about him.

‘Wait,’ Matt croaked, and he reached for Frank in the darkness and ended up pulling his partner closer by his right arm. He lifted up Frank’s chin and managed to plant an awkward kiss on his nose. He’d been aiming for his lips. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I just . . . didn’t want you to leave without . . . without . . .’

When had they gotten so darned emotional?

‘Don’t get all sentimental on me, Red, I’m not going to _die_ ,’ Frank laughed, and he cupped Matt’s face with both hands and kissed Matt on the mouth for already the second time that day.

Frank knew that he’d claimed he couldn’t do anything intimate while his dog was still out there, that Matt was just another distraction he didn’t need and that everything was on _him_ to fix, but the pull of Matt’s perfect mouth was stronger than anything he’d ever felt. For a brief, delicious second, the guilt he felt earlier was no more than noise in the background.

This wasn’t the thank-you kiss that Frank had teased Matt about on the first day of their mission. This wasn’t a kiss Matt Murdock couldn’t handle: it was subtle, soft and completely the opposite of what one might have expected kissing Frank Castle to be like. It was beautiful and just that little bit wrong, and Matt would probably have thoroughly enjoyed it if not for that steely taste of blood he tasted next.

A sudden wave of nausea fell over him.

Matt felt a flashback of some sort; a memory of a distant dream or memory. He couldn’t see its dull, terrifying image but remembered exactly how it had made him feel.

He pulled away from the kiss and almost fell off his stool. The blanket slid off his shoulders and Frank just about managed to steady him on time. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Matt’s saviour. His hands were on Matt’s sides, keeping him in place; making sure that everything still worked and ticked. Frank didn’t want to point it out, but Matt was shaking.

Matt started mumbling. He was stuttering like a young, scared child. The past and the present were overlapping, and for a brief second he didn’t know what was real anymore. A memory of a vague, blood red nightmare had been superimposed on top of their kiss and he had no idea how to put it into words. The only thing that Frank picked up in Matt’s vague monologue was, ‘I tasted blood. Just now.’

‘That’s you, pal. You must’ve split your lip in the kitchen.’

‘But I dreamt . . .’ Matt found his voice again. He wasn’t sure what he’d dreamt anymore. All he remembered was a vague mix of restaurant smells and a taste of blood on Frank’s face when he kissed him. It’d felt so real. ‘I dreamt that you died, Frank. We were having dinner, and you — you were dead. You’d died in the fight. Tonight’s.’

‘I’m not dead, Red,’ Frank reminded him firmly. He took Matt’s hands in his, a quiet reassurance. ‘Like I said. I’m not going to die.’

Matt had never felt so scared during this entire mission. It was as if having been stripped of his powers suddenly made the dangers and threats of their jobs very, very real. Previously he had been _so_ sure that his powers would ensure him and his associates of victory, that everything he did would have a happy ending because he could hear and feel things others could not — but now all he felt was fear. ‘Stay,’ he croaked. ‘Please, Frank.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Please.’

‘Red. I can’t.’

‘Frank . . .’

Frank took hold of Matt’s hands tighter. His mind went through a plethora of things he wanted to say to Matt, a million excuses and guilt-ridden reasons why he _had_ to go to the warehouse tonight and stop the criminals from enhancing their dogs for a final time; why _he_ of all people felt like he needed to stop things because he’d fucked up so many precious chances, but all he came up with was, ‘Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, Red.’

With that, Frank left for real. He closed Matt’s front door behind him as softly as he could so as not to startle his partner and went off into the dark evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going back to work next week so I'm not sure if I'll be able to update as regularly, but please watch this space. Things are about to get very tense...


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I took such a long time to update.

NOW

_I wonder if this is all my fault._

THEN

They say that time flies when you’re having fun, but it passes just as quickly when you’re depressed. Every day is just the same cycle of waking up, surviving and going back to bed, and at one point or another you no longer know if it’s a Tuesday or a Friday and time becomes so damn useless that you might as well be dead or close to it.

That’s what Frank felt like after his family had been taken from him. Every hour, every day. There was no clear distinction between good and bad days anymore. All of it was just _there_. Even the coffee he used to drink tasted as if he’d lost his taste buds on the same day he lost everything else.

Whilst Frank had previously enjoyed the way the light was reflected in the windows in his flawed city, he could no longer appreciate it today. Sex was just something he did for the disappointing orgasms. Going to bed became a nuisance filled with tears and nightmares that he couldn’t get rid of no matter how much he tried to keep his eyes open. All foods tasted as insipid as the lips of his nameless lovers.

Life, generally, was something that made him feel nothing. He was numb to it all. He didn’t necessarily want to die (he still enjoyed a certain sense of dignity, thank you), but he wasn’t that keen on staying alive either. Why would he, given that he spent each and every day in total pain?

Life took a more interesting turn when Frank decided to go out one night and just _drive_. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind or a random stranger he was going to meet up with, even though the latter had been occurring more and more recently. (Usually paid for.) He wasn’t planning to kill himself either. He didn’t have a certain item in mind that he desperately needed to buy at that hour. Somehow, ‘something’ just prompted him to head out that night. It was as if something was different about that particular late hour in a way that he couldn’t describe. Perhaps he’d just spent too much time coming undone in the privacy of his own home.

Not that you could call it a ‘home’, anyway. In the weeks between his personal tragedy and this, his house had quickly derailed. It no longer resembled the house he’d laughed, cried, loved, fucked, and been happy in. Once his family had gone, so had the love and joy that used to fill every room, hallway and cranny. It was now dirty and filthy and unloved. Dirty dishes filled the kitchen sink. Food wrappers covered the floors and tables. Only his kids’ bedrooms were left untouched because Frank hadn’t dared to go into them since what had happened.

Deep down, Frank knew that he’d have to leave the house behind one day if he didn’t want to tarnish the memory of his wife and children. They deserved better than to be remembered by an empty house, and perhaps that’s what made him leave it in the end.

Frank had been driving for an hour or two when he decided to park his car in a deserted city street. Not yet taunted by thoughts of vigilantism, the street was just an ordinary one. It didn’t yet prompt him to head to a rooftop and shoot the first crook he saw. That would come later, when he was so changed by darkness that only some faithful meetings would help light his way again.

He didn’t bother locking his car. He just left it there, key in the ignition. It was anyone’s for the taking. In a way, it was just another way of saying goodbye to his previous life, even if he didn’t entirely realise he was doing it at the time. (He also didn’t realise he’d never visit his old home ever again — at least not until a pretty blonde decided to stick her nose into it.)

Looking for answers or perhaps just terribly lost without them, Frank just walked and walked. He walked until his legs hurt. He walked until he no longer remembered where he was and only vague street signs and street names were there to guide him. He thought he was in Hell’s Kitchen, but the gloom that hung over him had made everything so dissimilar he might as well have been in a different country.

By now, his car had disappeared into the dark corners of the night. His house was a distant memory. He was leaving it all behind, and at the same time, dark ideas were brewing in the back of his mind that would disallow him to ever leave everything behind at all.

But before those ideas could settle in, he first had to save a dog.

Frank didn’t recognise the sound at first. It started off as a soft growling, as distant as the rustling of the trees overhead. Anyone would have ignored it because that’s what people in these city streets did these days. Bad things were something you could close your shutters to and ignore until they went away and you could again, for a day, pretend that Hell’s Kitchen was not a hell hole.  

But Frank Castle’s tarnished mind didn’t work like that. The sound became muddled up with the unmistakable, eerie sounds of punching and kicking, and he didn’t even think twice.

He headed towards the sound. He ran past a street corner and lost his way for only the fifth time that night.

The sight that welcomed him was a bad one. Four men, beating up a dog that couldn’t have been much bigger than a young child. Absolutely helpless to what was being done to him, it was cowering in the corner of a boarded-up convenience store. Its fur was covered with blood, and it made Frank see red until he could no longer think clearly and everything changed.

He didn’t have his guns.

He didn’t yet own a black suit that was as dark as the night.

The reputation that preceded Frank was yet to be whispered. All he had was his fists and his brawl, and anyone would have thought him a careless idiot for thinking he could take on four young men on his own.

But that’s the thing: depressed men don’t think.

The four men weren’t difficult to take on. They were young and careless, and once Frank had shown what kind of man he was, they ran off with their tails between their legs like the dog they had so terribly beaten up. Only the explicatives they shouted at the air reminded the world that something bad had happened until the streets once again became safe and only a man and a dog remained.  

Frank was for a moment lost as to what to do. In a different world he would have left the dog to its own devices and walked away, but that world didn’t look so appealing now. Eventually, Frank crouched down at the dog’s side and put a sympathetic hand on its fur. It looked shaken, but it wasn’t that badly hurt. Only a light patch of red indicated where one of the men’s feet had hit it.

Frank looked round him to make sure he and the animal were quite alone, then started speaking to it as if they were already on familiar terms. ‘You all right, buddy?’ he asked the dog, who could only respond with a sad but grateful little whimper. Frank assumed it meant yes. ‘You got an owner or something? Someone who’s waiting for you?’

The dog’s head drooped low. Its face looked sad. It didn’t have a family, then. Maybe it had once had one but then lost it, like the human who was talking to him right now.

Frank smiled at the dog sympathetically. ‘Yeah, me too, buddy. Me too.’

As if it understood that Frank shared its pain, the dog started licking the fists Frank had bruised during his earlier struggle. Usually Frank would have rejected such an unexpectedly loving gesture from humans and animals alike, but he was feeling so hurt and lost that he returned it by scratching the dog’s ears. Frank was then too unfamiliar with the world of dogs to be able to do anything else, but he didn’t need to. The way he petted the dog and eventually allowed it to follow him home was more than enough.

_

‘Home’ quickly turned out to be a derelict apartment in a pretty bad part of town. In the area, there was just the one convenience store and a shabby-looking café where Frank would one day be drinking coffee with his brand new partner and future lover. It was an area he would never have allowed his family to even drive past in the car, but he didn’t have a family anymore. All he had was the clothes on his back and an unfamiliar dog that kept following him wherever he went.

The apartment was the first room for rent that Frank saw on his journey, and he didn’t hesitate to make the landlord an offer. The elderly landlord initially looked at the stranger and his poorly dog rather suspiciously, but then he set his jaw and shook Frank’s hand. He asked no more questions, and that’s how Frank ended up with a new apartment and a pet in the same late evening.

The first few nights were tough even for someone like Frank. The apartment had no heating. There was hardly any furniture to sleep or sit on, and the creaking floors made for terrible makeshift beds. The walls were infested with silverfish. Police sirens and car alarms were the most common source of background music.

And like Frank, his dog spent most nights being haunted by nightmares.

The animal had taken a liking to Frank from the moment they met, but a lack of finances made Frank an extremely bad pet owner. The dog hardly ate. An old blanket was the only thing it could play with. Its bed was an old chair that looked like bullets had half-tore it apart. Walks out were made difficult by the thugs in the neighbourhood, so the dog and its owner would often spend no more than five minutes outside lest they were attacked.

Things became even more difficult for the poor animal when its brand new owner kept disappearing for hours at a time. It was as if he’d vanished into thin air. The third time it happened, the dog became so distraught that it awoke the entire block with its terrified barks and the landlord had to show up to shush him. Then Frank came home one night with a little more food and some proper toys to play with, and he and the dog played and played until they both fell asleep on a floor covered with plastic bones and toy balls. The dog wasn’t yet familiar enough with Frank’s body to notice that it was bruised from head to toe. What he did to pay the bills, only Frank himself knew.

As dark money continued to trickle in, the walks out became more and more colourful. Frank and his dog now walked through parks and vibrant city streets. They often headed down the waterside. Walks in the park were mostly spent playing catch, and nights were no longer plagued by nightmares about burning families and previous owners. Bad neighbourhoods were ignored from now on because they were not a place for dogs to be in. It was as if whatever Frank did at night made him realise that spending the day in playful technicolour was all the more important for him.

Slowly but surely, the two became inseparable. They started going everywhere together, and inevitably the dog was led into the dark world that made their shared lives possible. Frank didn’t force the dog to, of course. It just happened, like this is what the universe had always had in mind for them. The next day, they became a biting, shooting, punching, growling double team of man and animal that was feared by every crook and baddie in town.

There was not a particular occasion that made the two completely trust each other. They just _did_. Frank gave the dog its food and its toys and his total attention so therefore the man could and must be trusted, and likewise Frank trusted the animal because it alone had followed him home. Everyone else had already left and disappeared. Other humans looked at Frank like he himself was the animal, the devil, the beast of Hell’s Kitchen, but not his dog. To him, Frank was just a lovely, clumsy, gangly creature who just gave the best damn hugs really.

(Don’t tell Matt that.)

(Honestly, don’t. Frank will never hear the end of it if Matt ever finds out how good he is at doing something as affectionate as _giving hugs_.)

Even when the dog was kidnapped by a bunch of bastardly thugs several months after they’d met, its trust in Frank didn’t waver. If anything, it only made their bond stronger. At the end of the day, Frank was not to blame for what had happened. The people who had taken him were.

Frank _did_ invite strange people over sometimes, though, like that scary fella with all the guns. Or the old man who gave Frank a lot of money and sounded cross. Or, weeks later, when a group of thugs broke through their windows and Frank killed them all while the dog slept. Who were these people, and why did Frank keep inviting them in?

But it didn’t just stop there. One night, a total stranger stumbled through the door absolutely covered in blood and knocked over his two food bowls, and what could the dog do but lash out and attack?

NOW

_The evidence that we’ve gathered suggests the opposite, but it still feels like it_ is _my fault somehow. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so tough on Frank and allowed him to follow his own path rather than following my own righteous one, this would never have happened. He wouldn’t still be sneaking through city streets and warehouses to find his dog, and I wouldn’t be here, feeling so much when I can’t feel anything._

_It’s like everything is just out of reach. Including Frank. Tastes and smells tell me nothing, and the blanket that Frank wrapped around my shoulders right before he left should feel soft but it doesn’t. I can’t even hear the rustling of the trees outside my window anymore. It’s just noise. I know I’m not deaf and numb because I can still feel my own hands shaking and I can still hear my own terrified breathing every time I think there’s someone at the door, but I might as well be. Compared to all the things I felt before, it’s like I feel nothing at all._

_Maybe this is how it was always going to be. It could be that I was never destined to have these powers for good and that God has decided to take them from me for the little good I’ve done with them._

_If this is permanent, and it might be, then I don’t know if Frank will love me anymore. We’ve never been together in moments when my powers_ didn’t _matter. I always depended on them to tell me how Frank was feeling, and no doubt I would wrongly use my powers to figure out how his body ticks during our more intimate moments. It’s what I’ve always done. With everyone._

_If I don’t have my powers, then how will I still be able to tell how Frank feels about me?_

  
THEN

Once he saw who had stumbled through the door – Matt Murdock, then dressed in a terrifying, torn-apart Daredevil suit –, the dog made an absolute _run_ for it. Frank ordered him not to. The dog wasn’t listening. He jumped up at the stranger and pushed him to the floor so hard that Matt would have a big bump where his head had hit the floorboard for the next two weeks.  

The dark red intruder struggled against the dog’s heavy, furry body. He smelled of blood and fear and the previous men who had come here and disturbed the peace.

The dog bared its fangs and made a movement to strike. There would be no more intrusions tonight, not ever again.

Then Frank showed up. Just in time.

‘Get off of him!’ Frank pointed his finger at the dog’s naughty corner, as he had done whenever the dog had mistaken a pizza for its own food. He sounded different. Unbecoming. If the dog were capable of understanding the nuances of human speech, it would understand that Frank was absolutely terrified for the life of the person beneath its grubby paws. ‘ _Now!’_

The dog gave the blood-red intruder a judgmental look only a pet can give, then removed itself from the situation like a veritable student who had been sent out of class by his teacher. If the dog could have uttered an annoyed little grunt, it would have.

(Note: Everything had happened so quickly that Frank could hardly keep up, but that didn’t stop him from retelling this embarrassing story every time Matt was being a pain in the ass. Matt always claimed that he had dealt with Frank’s guard dog ‘perfectly’ that night, thank you very much, but Frank knew better. He’d more than heard the yelp that escaped Matt’s cute lips when the dog attacked him.)

What the dog witnessed next was something that would change its views on Frank Castle and the world forever. Frank pulled the stranger from the floor with uncanny familiarity and led him to his sofa and _he actually started taking care of him_. Unless they had fur and paws, the dog had never seen its owner take care of anything or anyone before.

Frank proceeded to clean the stranger’s wounds and kiss him in between brief moments of passing out and waking up, and the dog suddenly felt so bad for the intruder that it walked up to him like a shy dog does and started liking his bloodied hands. Matt didn’t seem to mind. He looked a bit strange up close, but he was a good petter. His hands were warm, and somehow that prompted the dog to climb onto the stranger’s lap and stay there until they both contently dozed off.

That’s when Frank finally knew that Matt Murdock was to be trusted. If that brief moment of familiarity hadn’t taken place, Frank would never completely trusted and love Daredevil at all. But his dog already did, _completely_ , and at the end of the day that’s what had pushed Frank to go out there and tear the world apart for them both today.

Perhaps when this was all over and Frank had finally reunited with his pet, the three of them could live together as an odd little family. Two men and their dog, as one. Frank and Matt would be tangled up in their own perfect bed while the dog slept at their feet. In the morning, they’d walk the dog and get so lovingly lost in each other and the city that their dog of all creature would have to remind them they had vigilante business to do.

But first, Frank had a score to settle in a warehouse.

Fast-forward to the present day. On the outside, the warehouse looked beat-down and abandoned. Even a horror movie wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. On the ground, glass from the top floors lay in shatters as if an explosion had taken place there. Only a faint red and blue logo on the warehouse’s clay brown exteriors indicated that business had once taken place there. Predictably, the entire premise had been shielded from view and trespassers by a great big gate. Frank had expertly climbed it.

One might have been put off by the emptiness of the area, but this was definitely the place. Frank had had it confirmed by the head of the medical company who had made this all possible. For inside those weathered walls, every single piece of health-enhancing dog medicine in Hell’s Kitchen was kept. In less than a day, the company who’d made them had sent every single patch of pills and vials here. Why? So the people who sought them would finally be drawn to one and the same place. There would be no more following and being followed. No more chases down city ports. This was it, ultimately. Frank would kill every single criminal and animal and save the only two creatures that mattered most. One of them was about to taken to the very warehouse Frank was watching; the other was still blind helpless in his own apartment.

As ever, everything depended on Frank getting this very, very right indeed.

NOW?

_I’ve not really considered it, but if we lose the dog I lose Frank too. He’ll probably blame me more than himself. He’ll say our failing is proof that we don’t work out, me and him._

_I can’t say I’d blame him._

_When we first met, the dog and I, I mean, I already felt like he and Frank had a connection. They had something going on that I didn’t understand and never bothered to. (I mean, who can blame me when the dog attacked me there and then? It’s like he thought_ I _was a criminal.) Foggy would say that I simply hadn’t gathered enough evidence to fully ‘get’ the complexity of the relationships between man and animal, but I don’t think that’s entirely the problem._

_I thought I was good for making a man like Frank appreciate me, but it’s even more impressive that a dog got there first._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also sorry about the quality of this chapter. Things should pick up again with the next one.


	19. Chapter 19

It was a late, warm spring night. The scent of city streets and petrichor filled the air. Some people cherished the smell of an evening in Hell’s Kitchen, others could hardly enjoy it. Like everything else that came upon their path, all it did was remind them of how corrupt the city was. One individual couldn’t even smell anything. He had lost touch with his senses a long time ago.

The sun was taking longer to go down than usual, and the last remnants of sunlight shone brightly in the faces of anyone who’d dare to look up at Hell’s Kitchen’s rooftops. On top of one of them, cleverly hidden behind the low railing that separated the roof from certain death, a man dressed in black was waiting for his adversaries to arrive at the warehouse he was watching. He’d been there for more than an hour. Every second of that hour, his mind kept alternating between the mission in front of him and the man he’d left behind. It was hard not to worry about what Matt was going through.

He tried to focus. In less than two minutes, he’d finally hear the first footsteps of a terrible group of criminals. He’d see them, right there, in front of his own two eyes. They were the men whose heads he wanted to split in two with a bullet. Actually, fuck that; they didn’t deserve quick treatment. They deserved to have their throats slit or an artery cut open so they’d bleed out on the floor until they begged for one of their dogs to finish the job.

Matt would condemn him for doing it, hate him even, but Matt wasn’t here right now. This was Frank’s call to make. Anyone who entered that warehouse tonight would be dead within fifteen minutes.

Even before coming here, Frank just assumed he’d set eyes on the thugs first. They’d be the ones leading the pack and guiding the way for their stolen animals to follow. But no — the first thing that reached Frank’s ears was not the sound of twelve smug thugs, but the faraway barks of twelve, thirteen, terrifying, changed dogs.

And suddenly, there they were.  

He knew he oughtn’t to look at them, but he did. Their furry skins were so dark and bloodied that it looked as though a dark wall of smoke had crept into the city streets. The dark, red blanket of fur passed the street corner below, and it was as if time slowed down until it no longer ticked and all Frank saw in this desolate neighbourhood was his own dog.

It was the worst thing he’d ever seen. The last time Frank saw his dog, its fur was shiny and its cute nose a red, wet colour that made him want to kiss every inch of his head, but now the fur was matted and dirty. It was clotted with blood. Its face, from what Frank could see from up here, had changed beyond recognition. It no longer looked happy. Its tongue was no longer playfully sticking out like it did every time Frank got him a snack. There was a scar running down its forehead. Frank had no recollection of one being there.

Was he sure this was _his_ dog? Was he not simply looking at the wrong animal? Could there be a chance that it had escaped the grasps of the criminals and that he was out there, right now, being looked after by someone who wasn’t Frank?

But no, this was definitely his pet. Frank recognised the front paws that had taken down so many criminals. The scar on its right leg. The patches of white fur that the last of the warm, heavenly spring sunbeams highlighted so well. This was every bit the animal Frank had saved from those four assailants such a long time ago, but that’s where the similarities stopped. It was as if the animal had been replaced by a former shell of itself.

The idea made Frank feel so incomparably sad that it felt like a punch to his stomach. The dog might as well be _dead_.

His dog, dead. The idea was so absurd his brain couldn’t even imagine it.

No, there had to be another way. This couldn’t be it. He wouldn’t allow the last time he saw his dog to have been on a fishy street corner.

Frank set his jaw and clenched his fists. He’d worry about this shit later, after he’d taken care of those goddamn thugs. He still had one vial of counter-medicine, after all; perhaps if he tried it on his dog, it would shift back into the animal he’d so grown to love. He hoped it would. He didn’t yet know what he’d do if the medicine didn’t succeed.

He focussed on what he saw in front of him. He tried to keep his emotions in check as he watched the group of thugs and dogs head into the warehouse. They did so via a side entrance that Frank had hoped they wouldn’t spot. (One of three: there was the north side entrance, one on the south end of the building and then the main entrance that only a fool would use.) The criminals made entering look so easy that it was as though there were only three of them.

Inside the warehouse, Frank knew, box after box of dog medicine was kept. He hadn’t been inside yet, but he imagined it to look like a retail warehouse full of crates and boxes about to be sent to their next owners. There would probably be quite a few red herrings; boxes that looked like they might contain the dog medicine but would turn out to be empty. They’d buy Frank time.

The only thing that was missing, were the tens upon hundreds of employees taking care of the boxes in their pallet trucks. In another time, they would have worked long graveyard shifts to make sure every single item of stock would make it to the front door of the people who had ordered them. Frank wondered what had happened to them.

Frank waited for another ten minutes. No more crooks and their changed dogs appeared, which meant there were about thirteen dogs and just as many criminals in the warehouse right now. It was a large number, but not one that was impossible to take on. Frank had taken on bigger groups with his hands tied behind his back. (No, really.)

He imagined they must have found at least _some_ of the recalled batches of medicine by now. If they were clever enough. He didn’t know how many there were, but he guessed it went into the hundreds. Thousands, maybe. If just the one pill was enough to change dogs – any dog – into the monsters he’d just seen in front of his very eyes, there would be no going back. A single dog would be able to cause absolute _chaos_ on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, which was perhaps exactly what the criminals wanted. Frank couldn’t see what else you might achieve with such an evil plot as this.

But no more. No. More. He waited two more minutes, then made his way down the office building he had turned into his short-lived sanctuary. He did so via the slippery fire escape that creaked as he walked, and he was down before anyone could spot him. The sun had gone down by now. A dark sky covered the area like the blanket Frank had put round Matt’s shoulders before he left.

He hoped he was well. Matt. By now, the effects of the poison might be wearing off.

They might not.

The poison’s effects could very well be permanent, and Frank felt a chill run down his spine as he considered it. He didn’t know what he’d do if Matt lost his powers. Matt being blind didn’t bother him, but his potentially being powerless did.

Frank quite liked the idea of Matt being able to hear his heartbeat while they talked or kissed or fucked. He liked the perks that came with Matt’s powers, but now that thrill was gone. Like his dog, only a shell of Matt’s previous self remained because someone had decided to tinker with their DNA.

Then again — were Matt’s powers really what made him _Matt_? Were they not just an extension of himself? Were they not just an add-on to everything that Matt Murdock already represented? Truth be told, Frank didn’t know. He doubted anyone knew after all the ‘gifted’ or ‘powered’ people or whatever you want to call them started showing up. Maybe all these powers did was strengthen the good or bad in people. Clearly, a righteous smart-ass like Matt was only ever going to use his powers for good. It’s what he was always destined to do, in a way. Frank doubted that if _he_ got powers, he’d end up on the right path. The dark was too tempting for that.

But not Matt Murdock. Matt Murdock just . . . got it. He _was_ goodness. He understood what it was like to live a life in darkness but he didn’t just blindly accept the path God had decided to put him on either. (Excuse the pun.) Like Frank, Matt had to fight his conscience every hour he was awake. Every minute. Every second. Matt Murdock was absolutely surrounded by darkness, and yet he never let the darkness in. He _was_ just a bad day away from becoming someone like Frank, but that’s the thing: he hadn’t. No matter how much bad shit he witnessed, he always stayed in the light. It’s something Frank first thought he envied, but then Matt smiled at him one day and he realized it wasn’t envy at all.

It’s hard to say when it started. It could have been that smile. Or his hair. Or that stupid face of his. Or, indeed, the way Matt’s suit hugged his perfect body and how fuckable he looked shirtless, with those goddamn scars of his that made Frank better appreciate his own. Those had always been his best asset even if he didn’t think so himself. But at the end of the day, it was Matt’s faith in Frank that really did it. Frank might not have believed for years, not even been to church for a decade, but Matt’s belief in him almost made Frank see the light again.

There was just something very pure about Matt and how easily he trusted Frank. It wasn’t naivety or a lack of experience. It was just what it was: complete and utter _trust._ Matt trusted Frank not to fuck it up, and for some reason or another that made Matt more attractive than he ought to have been.

(That great ass really helped too, though.)

But we digress. Picture again, that abandoned warehouse. It’s night, and Frank’s making his way to a second entrance. He’s quiet. He fast. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s ignoring the side entrance that the criminals used to get in because he knows someone will be standing guard. There are no thugs or dogs surveilling the area, so they’re probably not counting on someone like Frank or the police showing up.

In hindsight, calling the police probably wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.

Frank’s chosen entrance was reachable by a short set of stairs. It looked as grey and weathered as the rest of the building. Judging by the smell of urine, someone had recently used the staircase as his or her private toilet.

The stairs looked old. They’d probably break at the first tiptoe of pressure. Frank ascended them carefully. The second step from below creaked, so Frank counted to five until he continued. He wanted his arrival to be a surprise. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, he could hear voices. The criminals’.

|

Matt thought he could hear voices outside his front door. The poison had not ridden him of his sense of danger, so he got up as fast as his tired body allowed him and made his way to the door. His body ached so much that it took him three minutes. If someone had come to his apartment to finish the job, he’d never get out of here alive.

He pressed his ear to the door and listened. To his right, there was a small table that he had to lean on for fear of falling over. The blanket stayed round his shoulders. It gave him a sense of false security that he knew would get him nowhere.

His own heartbeat was fast. He was terrified. Frank kissing him had not got rid of the fear in him.

He could still not hear other people’s heartbeats, but he did hear two voices outside his door, as faint as if they were whispering:

‘I’m telling you, this is the place.’

‘I’m telling you, it ain’t.’

‘Look at the address, bro. This is it. Anyway, should _I_ knock or are you gonna do it?’

Matt moved away from the grey door as though it had burnt him. He almost knocked over the bowl on the table as he did so.

Someone was about to knock on his door. They might even try to break and enter.

Two people – two complete strangers – were literally only a door away from potentially hurting him. They could potentially _kill_ him, and there was nothing he could do about it because he was as helpless as if he were genuinely a blind man who couldn’t see. Someone had climbed in through his bedroom window in the middle of the night before. They could easily do it again.

‘Nuh-uh, Laurie,’ said one of the voices at the other side of the door. Male. Matt could not tell how old he was. He could not hear the intentions in the stranger’s heartbeat. There were no hidden meanings in the rise and fall of his voice.

Usually, Matt would have been able to tell why the two men were there by now. He might even have been able to tell where they came from and who had sent them because _that’s_ how good he was if he had complete access to his powers. But without them, literally all he had to go on was that were definitely two men outside his door. Talking.

And they were dangerous. They must have been. Matt could feel it in his gut. Having no more powers didn’t just suddenly rid him of the primal instinct he’d trained and built over the years. Telling whether people were bad came as naturally to him as smelling people’s adrenaline once did.

The same stranger went on, ‘I’m not doin’ this. No way.’

‘Don’t be such a pussy, Dave. I thought this wasn’t your first ride?’

Silence. Matt wrongly imagined they were grabbing their guns behind the door. He couldn’t see that they had their reluctant hands hidden inside the pockets of their hoodies.

‘I told you, it ain’t,’ said the man called Dave. ‘Anyway, is this shit even legal?’

‘Who cares?’ said the other. They might as well have had the same voice, Matt could tell so little from it. ‘We’re getting’ paid for this, aren’t we? Go in, get our hands dirty, and leave. It’s that simple. Anyway, are you ready to go in for the kill or not?’

Matt’s tired, paranoid heart sank.

These were the words of _assassins_.

He stumbled backwards as fear overtook him. His hand missed the table next to him and he fell, hard, on the floor in his hallway. He only narrowly avoided the bowl on the table. Had his hand hit it, it would have fallen on the floor with a great big _crack_ and alerted the criminals that he was at home.

The blanket had fallen off his shoulders during the fall. He reached for it in the darkness as if he thought having a blanket round his shoulders might protect him from bodily harm, but it was already too late.

Three knocks on the door came, and all a tired, broken, powerless Matt Murdock could do was hold his breath.

|

Frank opened the door of the warehouse, and the smell that hit him was so strong that he had to hold his breath. It smelled of a thousand dusty attics on a hot summer day. The criminals he thought he had heard were nowhere to be seen. They must have passed this door and headed into a different direction. Maybe the voices were just the ghosts in Frank’s head.

The warehouse itself needed little introduction. As Frank had already imagined, its exterior perfectly matched that of a retail warehouse. Everywhere he turned, there were two-storey high piles of crates and shipping boxes as if he had quite reached the end of IKEA. Most of the boxes looked and were probably empty, but some had their random contents still inside of them. One box was filled with a plethora of different children’s books like the ones Frank used to read to his kids. Another appeared to be stuffed full with footballs and other sports supplies. A third contained over a dozen cuddly toys whose silly little faces made him smile in a building where laughs had last been heard an age ago. Who’d have thought that he’d see objects so soft in a place that was about to become so hard?

The warehouse floor remained empty. Ten minutes in, he hadn’t spotted any thugs yet. Slowly he walked a broad aisle with piles and racks of shipping boxes at each side. They still gave him shelter, but not for long: a couple of yards ahead, his aisle of toys and footballs split into a T-junction. With so much stock blocking the way, he would never be able to tell who might be waiting for him. He was too distracted to consider the possibility that the criminals were already tailing him.

Truth be told, he didn’t even know where he was headed or what was waiting for him at all. He knew the dog medicine had been shipped here, but God knows where. This entire scheme might still turn out to be a double blind by the head of the medical company, Roger. He could still be exposed as the person who set this plot in motion.

The way this set-up had been orchestrated gave Frank an advantage, though. While the criminals were busy looking for the stock they sought in this labyrinth of dust and boxes, Frank could hit them right where it hurt. Right in the head, like the port worker they had killed. After all, was that not what these people deserved?

|

There came another knock at the door. It was followed by words that made the hairs on the back of Matt’s neck stand on end because he could not decipher their true meaning. Everything was a threat. _Everything._ Even the way the knocks were performed drew a gasp from Matt’s lips. Whatever once made him a powerful, intimidating, all-conquering vigilante, it was gone now. All of it.

‘Hey! Open up, Mr.! Say somethin’, Dave.’

‘Y-yeah — w-what he said.’

Another knock. Had Matt not been so struck by the loss of his powers, he would already have heard there was no harm in these words or in the men who spoke them. But instead, Matt sat on the floor as though petrified. It was as if the poison had not only ridden him of his powers but also injected him with a serious case of paranoia.

He did not recognise these voices, but they definitely belonged to crooks. These people had absolutely been sent to kill him.

They were about to come in and finish him off.

Except — they were not.

‘See? Told you there was no point comin’ here. Place is fucking empty,’ said Dave.

‘He’s just pretendin’, I bet. Im’ma try again.’

There came another knock. A powered-up Daredevil would have been able to hear the reluctance in the way the man’s fist hit his door. These were not two assassins.

‘See? Told you he ain’t here. Anyway, Lau, I’m goin’ home,’ the second man said with a resigned sigh. ‘Got better things to do than tryin’ to sell these damn insurances. Tell the boss I quit.’

What?

‘ _Dude_. Just like that?’

‘Bro, we ain’t got a chance in hell of sellin’ these things. I’m off.’

‘Whatever, dude.’

‘You gonna stand there all day or what?’

‘Okay, _fine_. Jeez, Dave.’

Matt let out the breath he was holding as he heard the faint sound of leaving footsteps. Two pairs of them.

They were just two people trying to sell him something. They had not been sent to kill him. All they wanted to do was hook him up with a goddamn insurance. Clearly, he could no longer keep his fear in check.

More than ever, he wished Frank were here. He’d make fun of him for being such a paranoid pussy, but he’d also hold him. Kiss Matt like he had before he left.

God, what a kiss that was. It was every bit as comforting as Matt needed and yet it made everything worse because it lacked everything that made kissing so good. Where was the adrenaline Matt usually smelled, or the gasps he’d hear in his ear? Where were those beats that ticked so rhythmically that they spelled out the dirty words in his lovers’ heads?

It was as if Matt was barely conscious at all. All he felt was unadulterated _fear_.

What if his powers never came back at all?

|

This could very well be a trip that Frank would never come back from. It didn’t feel right that he’d been in this warehouse for well over ten minutes and that he still hadn’t met a single soul. Even the wet warehouse floor was devoid of rats picking the last bits of food from the empty food boxes. Either this was just the silence before the storm, or he had walked right into a trap set by the person who had made this all possible.

He reached the T-junction at the end of his aisle and faced a decision: head left or right. Left was where the boxes of recalled medicine where. He didn’t know this. Couldn’t. On his right, there were four or five men with their changed dogs headed straight for him. In their search for yet more pills to enhance their dogs with, they hadn’t considered the possibility that Frank Castle of all people was already here. Once they found out, they would unquestioningly kill him.

Frank Castle wouldn’t get in the way of their plans yet again. They had spared the life of Daredevil because killing him would create more trouble than they’d dare deal with, but no one would ever mourn the life of the Punisher. No one liked him, but everyone feared him. Killing him would only make these criminals look more impressive in the eyes of others’. No one would come looking for him if he disappeared.

Or so they thought.

Frank took a deep breath. He had no way of knowing where to go. He did not possess the powers Matt once did, but that had never stopped him on a mission before. He knew he was good at his job. He’d stop this for once and for all. All he needed was the complete and utter conviction that he would kill whomever and whatever he met on his path.

He was going left.

Then a dog showed up.

Just like that. It no longer had the size and body of a normal dog, but it definitely was one. Its eyes were blood red. It was a Rottweiler, like Frank’s. There were wounds all over its body like it had already been in over a thousand deadly fights. And although its body was heavy, it had sneaked up on Frank with the stealth of a cat. Only the dog’s heavy breathing had given its presence away.

Frank turned to take in the dog. Behind him, there stood four criminals that Frank vaguely recognised from his previous efforts. They had followed him through the side entrance he had stupidly assumed was safe.

He should have learned to trust the voices he heard. What a careless idiot he’d been.

The four men said as much. ‘I must say I’m a lil’ disappointed you’re just letting yourself get caught like that, Punisher,’ said one of them. He was young, only in his early twenties. There were not nearly enough scars on his body. He was pointing a gun at Frank’s stomach, the same one Frank had been shot with near the water. ‘Guess what happened to your partner really got you shook, huh? Bet you amount to nothing when he’s not by your side.’

Frank’s belly did a boyish cartwheel at the mention of the word ‘partner’, but then he remembered no-one knew about what he and Matt had going on. Everyone just thought they were partners, the business kind. To these four criminals, they were nothing else. They were just two guys who fought crime together.

Frank shrugged noncommittally to keep up the pretence. In his head, he was already going through the ways he would take down the four men. He was four to one: if he drew his gun he’d be dead.

His quick gaze landed on a pile of boxes just to the criminals’ right, and an idea came to him. ‘Not really,’ he said to bide for time. ‘He was being a righteous pain in the ass, anyway, you know. We couldn’t agree whether we should just kill you or not. He said we hand you over to the police. I said we just fucking shoot you in the head.’

The criminal with the gun laughed mockingly. ‘That’s cute, pal. Remember what happened last time? When we shot you and you landed your stupid ass into the water? I bet you’re barely holding up after the hit you took.’

Frank scoffed. ‘Guess you’re all not as good as you think, huh. I mean, driving me into the water? That’s the best you can do?’ He waved a hand at the dog in front of him. It looked as though it could strike at any moment. ‘Is that why you had to kidnap those dogs? Because you can’t finish the damn job yourself? That’s real cute.’

The criminal, clearly the leader of this particular group of four, raised his gun at Frank’s head as though he was making a point. He’d had more than enough of the Punisher’s shit. ‘You can still walk out of here alive, Castle. Your choice. All we need is those meds.’

Frank smiled one of his rare, smug smiles. ‘You think I’m just gonna walk out of here after what you did to my partner? You know, after what you did to my – to my goddamn _dog_?’

The smile disappeared from Frank’s face as though someone had wiped it off. He’d done the quick calculations in his head. He knew exactly what he was going to do and what was needed to pull it off successfully. In the back of his mind, there was still a faint hope that he was actually going to get out of here alive.

‘Well, good fucking luck with that, son.’


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank is faced with a terrible choice. Meanwhile, Matt has no choice but to reach out for help.

_Claire? I need your help._

|

‘Well, good fucking luck with that, son,’ Frank had said. The criminals all looked at each other as if Frank had spoken in a language they didn’t speak, and it was the last thing they’d ever do; The Punisher had already raised his gun quicker than the criminals could mirror. 

_Bang._

He pulled the trigger quicker than the speed of light. He had to. His life depended on it.

_Snap!_ The bullet tore through a strip of packing tape that was stopping a large box from toppling over, and _crack!_ — the entire thing came crashing down on top of the men and their animal with a loud, spine-tingling clash.

They were all dead. The dog, too. Just like that.

Frank didn’t have long to recover from his meeting. He didn’t stay to watch the dog’s fractured face as it let out its final breath onto the warehouse floor. He couldn’t; this was war. This was terrible and terrifying and it was just about to get a whole lot worse because that’s the only thing this fucking gang deserved for what they had done.

He turned a sharp corner past a tall structure of metal shelves. He hadn’t anticipated the fist that came flying in his direction. Another hit him, poorly, in his chest. A bullet narrowly avoided his face before it ricocheted against a shelf and hit a crook in the chest.

He was again surrounded; blinded by a curtain of punches and counter-punches. He’d been so keen on getting a move on that he hadn’t considered the possibility that there was danger at every turn. Once more, he’d let his carelessness get the better of him. Once more, the nagging, tugging voice at the back of his head that told him Matt Murdock _was fucking right_ _about him_ kept pestering him until only the impact of a fist drowned it out.

It only took Frank a second to gauge the situation. He was in the middle of a broad aisle with towering piles of empty boxes at each side. Three men were tearing at him. No dogs. A fourth man came charging at him from behind a box wrapped in plastic, metal bar in hand. Frank thought he recognised him as one of the guys who took his dog all those mornings ago.

Frank managed to shoot him, miraculously, before the guy could so much raise his arm.

The other three were more difficult. It was hard to move. Space was sparse and time was of the absolute essence. They were a strong bunch, but it also meant the gang were getting more desperate. Careless, like Frank. If they wanted to take him out so badly, it meant they must be absolutely _hell bent_ on getting the meds before him.

He dodged another fist. A second hit him in the stomach, but the person who threw it did it so poorly that Frank could take him out with a single counter-attack to his face. Frank felt no pleasure as he snapped the guy’s neck a second later.

The other two were trickier. Guns were no longer an option unless he got a clear shot. They were surrounded by steel shelves and metal containers: a single bullet might ricochet and kill him.

He had to go all in. The two remaining men came at him. A third and a fourth showed up as if by dark magic; the last of the gang, if he’d counted correctly. If he dealt with these four, the dogs would be the only remaining threat between him and the medicine. There would be no more hiding behind knuckles and metal bars. He’d set this whole place on fire if he had to.

There was hardly any time to think. The thugs had closed in on him before he knew it. Fists and elbows hit him from every angle. One even tore open the stitch underneath his shirt and drew a pained groan from his lips as he moved.

It was a bad move. Instead of looking who had punched him, Frank pushed right into the first bastardly body he saw and sent it flying, backwards, against a shelf. The impact was so hard that the entire structure came toppling down like a bad game of Jenga and Frank only narrowly avoided a shipping crate hitting him.

Three more, dead.

The last remaining thug was stronger. Bigger. Like the men Frank had tried and failed to take on in prison, the thug was an actual giant. This guy’s hands were the sides of spades. His chest looked so tough that Frank would break his hand just touching it. There was a scar that ran all the way down the top of his head to his chin as if someone had tried prying his skin open, and on top of that he was so confident in his own skills that he was only wearing jeans and an ill-fitting t-shirt. There wasn’t a scratch on him.

In other words, this man was dangerous. He could very well be the last hurdle between Frank and the army of dogs he knew was waiting for him.

But instead of this making Frank scared, it made him very, very confident indeed.

The giant charged.

He reached under his bloodied shirt as he pushed past the piles of bodies and boxes. A gun was revealed; one that had shot and hurt Frank before.

Frank did not try to stop it. He didn’t have to. He would solve this shit the only way the other guy wasn’t expecting.

|

_Claire? It’s me again. Call me back. Please._

|

Everything happened in a second or less. The giant raised his hand. His gun was cocked. A second too late, and Frank would have been caught in the fire and fallen, lifeless, to the floor. The thug would have snapped his neck or punched him so hard that would hardly have he hardly felt the blow. But not this time. Frank slipped to the side just in time, caught his feet between the giant’s two legs, and _poof!_ — the giant fell, hard, on the warehouse floor. Frank had already shot him between the eyes before the thug could roll over and raise his arms in surrender.

Silence fell over the warehouse. Everything was quiet, but Frank knew better. This was the silence before the storm. Things were about to get a whole lot worse.

So far, his plans of getting the criminals out in the open were working, but if he didn’t take out every single one of them tonight everything would have been for nothing. If only one crook slipped out of the warehouse with a box of meds underneath his shirt, all this shit would start all over again. Just the one changed dog would be enough to take down entire neighbourhoods and fill people with great fear.

The lack of criminals that were in his sight gave Frank time to catch his breath. The fights had not exhausted him, but he had managed to pop several stitches again. He could feel a hot, wet, thick, unpleasant trail of blood trickle down his arms underneath his clothes, and he winched. He felt as though he’d put on a wet t-shirt. If Matt’s nurse friend were here, she’d lecture him for being so careless.

He continued on. The rest of the gang must be aware of his whereabouts by now. He hadn’t bothered to check whether their associates were truly dead, but he guessed they wouldn’t be doing much kidnapping after they’d had a 150-pound box land on top of them. He might have become careless, but his kills never were.

He took an aisle he hadn’t been in yet. It looked cleaner and safer than the ones he’d been in previously. He must be getting closer. He might still be able to destroy the pills and stop this for once and for all. He just had to trust the head of the medical company that they were never going to manufacture these meds or use fish oil as a component ever again.

Another T-junction. A mouse ran wildly along the floor and vanished into a crack in a wall.

Something in Frank told him to head left. He thought he could hear barks in the distance, and he had to ignore the aching feeling in his heart. It hurt more than the injuries he’d gained today.

He walked slowly. His arms were outstretched as he held up his pistol. It made him feel strangely vulnerable. On previous missions he’d often have been loaded with rifles or shotguns, but this wasn’t that kind of mission. He didn’t want to shoot these thugs from an anonymous, unreachable distance. Any sound, movement, or false move, and he’d shoot. Man or dog. At this point, there wasn’t even a fucking difference anyway.

He often wondered what it was like to have a regular job; to work and spend time in places that weren’t so damn miserable. There were always the corrupt city streets; the empty ports; the derelict warehouses and their surrounding buildings; the dirty apartments that looked as though a hoarder lived there; the barren landscapes he used to travel through when he still served; and more recently, the rooftops he frequented when he thought there would never come an end to his pain. Perhaps if his family had not been torn apart like it had, he would now be living an ordinary life. He would not be here, creeping around in a warehouse where every aisle looked the same.

It was getting predictable. There were the metal structures, the packing boxes with their unknown contents. The dirt on the floor. The cameras on the ceiling, which were once meant to be watching over stalling employees but were now rendered useless by the dust on the lenses. The damaged stock spilling out onto the shelves like an explosion had taken place there.

He reached a familiar point. He’d been walking in circles. He had to sidestep spider webs and the shrivelled remains of a rodent; one he’d spotted before. Eventually, he even saw the pile of boxes that had toppled over again; underneath them, there were the dead bodies of two men.

_Two_.

When Frank approached the scene again, he saw that a trail of blood painted the floor in front of it. It led beyond, into an aisle Frank hadn’t been to yet.

Fuck.

Frank ignored the foreboding feeling in his stomach. He followed the trail in spite of what he already knew. Contrasted against the light grey of the warehouse floor, it looked like a thick smear of paint. It wasn’t. One of the crooks had gotten away; this was his tell; his final, bloody mark. He would have felt no dignity dying or crawling closer to his death.

The aisle the trail led into was smaller. Here, the shelves were closer together. The floor became rougher and forced him to watch his step. Packages wrapped in plastic towered over Frank ominously. They looked different to the shipping boxes Frank had seen previously. Something about them felt strange and unbecoming, like they contained objects that were wrong and deserved to be shipped to no-one. Even the faint scrawls on the packing strips looked different. Frank and Matt had stopped enough illegal weapon transports to know that these boxes did not contain cute toys and children’s books.

This could be the part of the warehouse where ordinary employees were not allowed to come; the part where guns and weapons and knives were shipped to their future, lethal owners. It would explain why a warehouse that had once been so prolific was now bare and empty. It could be that lawful things had once happened behind its large doors and that the police had since put a stop to it.

But then why would Roger send his stock here, of all places? Was it just a weird coincidence or was there more at play?

Frank kept walking regardless. He felt like he was being watched. He _was_.

A box in front of him toppled over. Another behind him fell and hit the ground hard, and he turned around so carelessly that he never saw the dogs leaping out of the dusty shadows. When he looked in front of him again, he was absolutely surrounded by a pack of large, heavy, _brooding_ hounds.

None of them were his.

Like dangerous wolves in the dark of a snowy night, the dogs were all baring their teeth, ears pulled back. They were covered in blood as if they’d just had dinner. Some of them growling; teasing. _Move away, or we’ll attack_ , they seemed to be saying. _You don’t belong here, Castle. This is our bloody territory._

His gut went cold. Frank caught himself staring into the blood red eyes of the biggest dog of the whole pack, and the same sinking feeling he had felt previously came back to him. He was starting to feel scared; terrified. It was a feeling he was becoming more and more accustomed to this mission. The Punisher was scared, and how could he not be? These dogs were undoubtedly capable of killing him. He tried to stay rational, to convince himself that these dogs were probably just as scared of him as he was of them, but logic had long been removed from this mission. These were not animals that were terrified; the truly scary things had already been done to them.

His gun still trained on the largest of the three dogs in front of him, Frank followed the trail of blood on the floor with his eyes. He discovered with a pang that it led to the dismembered body of one of the criminals he thought he’d killed. The dogs must have finished the job for him.

And now they were going to do the same to him.

The dogs were creeping closer like dogs do; slowly, stealthily; teeth still bared. There were now three of them in front of him and two more behind him. He was trapped. Completely. The aisle was so narrow he had nowhere to go. His gun-bearing hands started shaking as he remembered how terrified he was on that first night, when he ignored Matt’s orders and nearly got eaten by a dog twice the size of him. He still remembered the pain he felt as the dog’s teeth sank into his skin. He dog’s breath. The blood he smelled; his own. And how terrified he felt waking up on Matt’s sofa later, when he was lost and disoriented and only the sight of his own jacket reminded him where he was.

He’d barely survived being attacked by one dog. He would not survive being attacked by five.

Frank knew that any and every move could be fatal. If he so much drew breath or stepped backwards, they’d pounce. If he lowered his gun, they’d pounce. If he spoke or opened his mouth, they’d pounce and make red, fiery eyes the last thing he ever saw.

In a way, it was a lot like his encounters with human criminals. There was always that two-second window of killing and being killed. Being in danger was something he’d grown used to by now — or at least he should be. He generally knew what was required of him to stay alive. But being faced by these dogs? It was nothing like he’d ever been through. They were faster than him. Stronger. Blood-thirsty. And Frank knew what that was like, to be thirsty for someone else’s blood, but not when they were goddamn _dogs_. They were animals, dammit. Someone else’s _pets._  

He couldn’t do it, his inner voice told him. Wouldn’t. Didn’t want to. But he _had_ to. He had to go through with it if he wanted to make sure this never happened again, ever, and it was perhaps the hardest choice he’d had to make since meeting Matt Murdock.  

Frank wondered, for a moment, what Matt would do. He tried to ignore the memory that the question conjured up.

Matt would listen to these dogs’ heartbeats. He’d find a way to tap into that shit and make them better. Whole. He’d take them to the nearest vet and not care if he had to expose his powers to the world as long as it meant saving them. He might not understand what it was like to have a pet to love and take care of, but he did not differentiate between creatures’ lives. Any person or animal that needed saving was a life that was worth it.

But Matt wasn’t here. ‘Saving’ these dogs, whatever that meant, was no longer an option. Taking them to a vet might have been an option when this all started, but not now. Not anymore. With that single vial of counter medicine still tucked away underneath his clothes, Frank only had one terrible, irredeemable, unforgettable choice.

|

‘You sure you don’t want me to walk you home?’

‘That’s — wow, that’s a good one. Didn’t I _just_ tell you I was taking self-defence classes?’

‘I know. What I mean is, I wouldn’t mind _walking you home_.’

Claire let out a mocking laugh as her lover helped her put on her coat. He picked up her heavy shoulder bag from the floor with ease. ‘My God. You really _are_ keen.’

‘Couldn’t you tell?’

Her lover kissed her on the mouth, and she felt a spine-tingling thrill in her stomach as his left hand ran up her arm. He stopped at her delicate neck, and he pulled her closer and closer until their mouths fitted as one and time slowed down until the clock in the hallway was no longer ticking. She found her own hands wanting to take her jacket back off and heading straight to his bedroom to finally, _finally_ finish what they’d started an age ago, but then her phone rang. And again. And again.

And she knew it wasn’t good.

Claire fished for her phone in the pocket of her jeans while her lover kept kissing her cheek and cursed when she saw whose number was displayed on the screen. Matt’s.

Her part-time lover stopped kissing her immediately, but not without playfully reminding her of her language. ‘Important?’ 

‘Might be. Yeah. Shit.’ She shot him an apologetic look. ‘Sorry. Do you mind? You, um, you were kinda in the middle of something there.’

‘It can wait.’ He glanced at the screen. ‘Is he the attorney I keep hearing about?’

Claire nodded. Her face had clouded over with doubt and worry. It’d been a while since her lover last saw that expression.

‘I told you, I can help,’ he told her.

‘I’m not sure he’s the type you help. Believe me, I’ve tried.’ She gave her lover an apologetic kiss on the cheek. It was only a small compensation for the proper, promising kiss her phone had rudely interrupted. While they talked, the phone was still ringing and vibrating in her hand. ‘I’ll call you,’ she said; an indication she was leaving.

‘Don’t think _I_ won’t.’

She slung her bag over her shoulder. Her mind was already half out of the door, where Matt was, but her heart was definitely still set on her lover’s lips. It was unbelievable how good he was at kissing her. ‘Coffee next time?’

‘At yours?’

She laughed. ‘You _wish_ ,’ she joked. (She didn’t mean it. She was definitely having coffee with him next time they met. The strong, robust kind that didn’t leave a bitter taste on your tongue.)

With those two parting words, Claire headed out of the door and consciously pressed her bag closer to her body as the cold spring air whipped at her skin. The moment she heard her lover close the door behind her, she swiped left on her screen and answered the phone while she scanned the streets for taxi cabs.

‘Matt, is everything all right? I’ve got about thirteen missed calls and they’re all from you.’ As Claire had learned from previous nights out spent with her girl friends – or, in fact, her more challenging acquaintances like Matt –, she looked over her shoulder before she turned a corner. There was no one following her. The vagrant who was sleeping underneath the shelter of a blossoming tree looked harmless. ‘Is it Frank?’

‘It’s not him,’ Matt rasped. He sounded different. Ill. It made Claire stop in her tracks. Again, there was that look over her shoulders to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

‘Matt? _What’s wrong_?’ she pressed him. ‘Is Frank there with you?’

‘No.’ Silence. ‘It’s my powers, Claire. I’ve lost them. I – I think it’s permanent. I didn’t know who else to call. I’m sorry.’

Again, the world came to a stop. A taxi cab rushed by in slow motion as a rain drop hit Claire’s forehead. The vagrant behind the tree turned over in his sleep, and, overhead, an aeroplane filled with a hundred different lives flew over this city, not realizing how complicated the world below was about to become. At the same time, a ridiculous, wondrous, terrible idea came to Miss Temple that threw away everything she knew about her science and the world that had shaped it.

‘I might know a guy.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get interesting.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is subjected to a science experiment. Meanwhile, Claire asks him what kissing Frank is like. (Very good, thank you very much.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor spoilers for Luke Cage (the TV series).

‘So you’re saying this is the guy who’s been beating people up in Hell’s Kitchen.’

‘Yeah.’

Luke Cage, the one and only, shot the guy on the sofa a questioning look. He didn’t look very threatening from their vantage point at Matt’s cluttered kitchen counter. ‘Seriously? No offence.’

‘Like I said,’ Claire said as she was busying herself with her brand new medical kit on the kitchen counter, ‘he’s a lot tougher than he looks. And he wears a mask, unlike you,’ she added tongue-in-cheek, as if this was meant to somehow, miraculously change Luke’s stance on the stranger on the sofa.

‘Like I _said_ ,’ Luke said, with a deliberate take on Claire’s own choice of words, ‘I don’t do masks. Don’t you ever wonder what someone who wears a mask at night has to hide?’

Claire rolled her eyes. ‘He’s blind, Luke. That’s not something you want to advertise to all the creeps out there,’ she said with a curt nod to the window before heading back to the tools in her medical kit. Only a small kit, it contained only a few bandages, an eye pad, cleansing wipes, safety pins, adhesive pins and clothing shears. Luckily, she’d also remembered to pack it with needles, syringes, and a sample of someone else’s blood before she left; just enough to do the things she was planning to do.

Luke looked at Matt again. The so-called Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was currently running his fingers round the rim of a coffee cup. Claire had seemed very familiar with the guy’s coffee machine earlier. Too familiar.

Luke lowered his voice and hazarded the question he’d been wanting to ask. He did so with extreme care and discretion: ‘Did you two ever have . . . coffee?’

Claire raised her eyebrows as she snapped her first aid kit shut. She was holding a syringe in one hand and a scientific vial of blood in another. ‘ _Now_? Seriously?’

While he knew that the question hadn’t offended Claire, the nurse looked so threatening with the syringe in her hands that Luke didn’t dare probing her further. (Which was saying much, given that needles were rather wasted on someone like him.) He was too much of a gentleman to really ask these types of questions, anyway.

‘I take it you know what you’re doing?’ he asked her instead.

Claire sighed the way that Claire Temple does whenever the ‘special’ in life decided to look her up. ‘Do I ever with you guys?’

Luke knew she wasn’t just talking about him and the attorney on the sofa, but powered people in general; gifted individuals. Claire had been spending so much time taking care of people like him lately that it was starting to show. She knew things about gifts and powers and enhancements that most people didn’t. Unlike the organizations that were hell bent on getting these gifted individuals off the streets or recruiting them for things that went beyond day-to-day science, Claire saw the people behind the masks; the men and women behind their powers. In her job as a day job she had been taught to treat people regardless of the crimes they’d committed, and it was the same now. She would not judge her patients based on their bulletproof skin or metal-bending abilities. It made Claire an asset, in more ways than one.

‘But you know what you’re doing,’ Luke pressed her.

Claire swallowed. ‘Honestly? No. This is anything I’ve ever seen. His powers are _gone_ , Luke. A couple of days ago, he recognised me just by my _heartbeat_. And now? Now he can’t even see anymore, and if this is permanent –’ Here, she glanced at Matt and lowered her voice to a mere whisper, ‘If this is permanent, a lot of people are going to die. Including his partner.’

Luke raised his eyebrows. ‘The news never said that Daredevil had a partner.’

‘They’re a bit more than that.’

Luke gave Claire a subtle, almost undetectable once-over. ‘Like you and me? Dating?’

Claire laughed. ‘God, no. _No_ , they’ve gone way past what we’ve got going on. I mean, _God_.’ She ran her hands through her short hair as she remembered the tension she felt when Frank and Matt were arguing in the living room two or three nights ago. You could have cut the tension with a knife. There was no denying Matt loved or at least genuinely liked Frank, but there was a lot of other shit going on between them that needed dealing with first.

Claire wondered if she could prompt Matt to talk about him – Frank – a little more. She never dwelled on her short-lived relationship with Matt much, but the fact that Frank had somehow put up with Matt’s self-destructive shit or at least mirrored it, made her curious. There must be something very special about him if Daredevil of all people decided to fall in love with someone he once defended in court.

(He _was_ cute, though. In a weird, dishevelled sort of way.)

‘But he does need saving,’ Claire said. ‘Both of them. This neighbourhood will literally fall apart if Daredevil disappears off the radar. This place was an absolute mess before he got here. Trust me, I used to live right in the middle of it.’

‘I get that,’ Luke said diplomatically, ‘but Daredevil’s not the only person who can take care of Hell’s Kitchen. Why him?’

‘He’s the only one I trust enough to do it properly. All the other guys out there, they’re just there to stir shit. He’s not. He doesn’t kill people. He helps them.’ She gave him a meaningful look. ‘He’s a lot like you, actually.’

Luke made a face at her. ‘Bulletproof?’

‘I meant he always does the right thing. I mean, when he’s not too busy being his own worst enemy.’ Claire sighed as she stared ponderously at the syringe in her own two hands. It was only now that the enormity of what she was about to do was starting to hit her. She knew it was dangerous, but was other choice did she have? ‘If you think _our_ first meeting was strange, you should’ve been there when I found that guy in a _dumpster_.’

Luke leant his right hand on the kitchen counter. ‘He was your first?’

She nodded, but she didn’t feel like discussing it. Her first meeting with Matt conjured up far too many memories that belonged in the far, distant past.

Claire’s reluctance to bring up the past didn’t stop her from worrying when Matt called her and told her his powers had gone, though; after hanging up and gathering her thoughts, she immediately went back to Luke’s and told him she needed him. And for what? His powers, of course. Luke was invincible. He didn’t gain any wounds, ever, and if he did he’d probably heal his skin right back. If there was anyone who might be able to help Matt get his powers back, it was a man with bulletproof skin and cells that are elastic.

Theoretically.

Matt told Claire what had happened over the phone. He did it so vividly that Claire had a pretty good idea of the situation within a few minutes. He told her about the glass of water on his bedside table and the loss of his powers that followed, and he was not shy to tell her that he was absolutely terrified. He didn’t yet tell her that he hadn’t seen it coming when Frank kissed him. He also left out the fact that the lack of other people’s heartbeats in his ear was the thing that bothered him most.

In her day job Claire generally used more conventional methods to take care of her patients, but Matt wasn’t a conventional patient. She needed something different; a medical intervention.

She thought back to the previous gifted individuals she had taken care of. Jessica Jones had been a relatively easy patient in spite of the woman’s temperament, but Luke had been more difficult to treat. He needed treatments Claire wasn’t even sure would work. And then there were the gifted individuals she had met as a nurse since: the girl whose body could bend in the strangest shapes; the man whose eyes flared fire; the woman who, like Luke, couldn’t be treated with regular needles. They had all needed something different.

She knew it was a stretch, but it seemed quite likely that Matt might regain his powers if he was injected with Luke’s blood — or, rather, the cells that were elastic and super absorbent and made even the most serious of wounds heal. It was a far-fetched idea that made her feel like the goofy, astute scientist in a comic book, but what else did they have? Matt needed his powers back _now_.

When Claire explained what she was planning, Luke’s reaction was sceptical. Not only was injecting another gifted individual with his blood potentially dangerous, it was also impossible. Luke Cage didn’t bleed. Needles and knives didn’t pierce his skin. A probing, experimental blood transfusion would only waste his and Claire’s precious time. And besides, he wasn’t a sad little mouse in a lab whose ears or toes would grow back if you cut them off. His powers weren’t the kind you pass on. No-one’s were.

But Claire was absolutely adamant. She _would_ help Matt get his powers back, no matter what.

She promised Matt so over the phone, and it was that same second that she remembered she’d kept a sample of Luke’s blood in a medical kit. She knew full well she shouldn’t have kept it because it made her no better than the man who had accidentally bestowed those unique but dangerous powers on Carl Lucas, but she couldn’t help it. There was just something incredibly fascinating about  gifted individuals. More often than not, they defied everything she knew about the human body. They were unique and nothing her previous jobs as a nurse had ever trained her for, and it was the most exciting, enthralling thing she knew. How could she then _not_ help them out?

‘Remember when you took on Cottonmouth and his crew?’ Claire had reminded Luke at her apartment a while back. They’d taken a quick taxi there to get Claire’s nursing paraphernalia, and Luke spent most of the time wistfully looking around the living room as if he wanted to remember everything about it should he ever come back. He knew he would one day visit Claire’s apartment, but he didn’t think it would be under such dreary circumstance. ‘I saved a sample of your blood,’ Claire went on. ‘Just in case. I never thought it would come in useful _now_.’

‘You should have told me,’ Luke had said, but not with judgment. He understood what Claire was getting at completely. She was a qualified nurse; the woman who had more than once saved his life without ever asking for anything in return. She must have known that the way his body was put together would one day mean something. Even if she _should_ have told him.

‘I know,’ she had said in response. Her gaze rested on the clock in the corner. Matt had called fifteen minutes ago. She tried not to feel the strain the passage of time might have on her plans. ‘But your body’s just so interesting, Luke. The way your cells absorb energy — the way your skin’s capable of withstanding anything — it’s unlike anything I’ve ever _seen_. There’s _got_ to be uses for your powers that you haven’t even tapped into yet.’

‘You have a funny way of flirting with me,’ Luke had said next, and Claire’s nervous, flirty laugh marked the end of their argument. Claire was going to inject Matt with Luke’s blood. Period. She didn’t foresee any problems, but if nothing happened at all she’d be letting Matt and herself down, too. This _had_ to work. She’d seen too much weird, miraculous shit for it not to.

When Claire and Luke knocked on Matt’s door a while later, they found the attorney in a pretty bad state. He looked fine physically, but Claire could tell that the loss of his powers must have come as a massive shock. He kept saying he was fine and that he just ‘needed the company’, but Claire knew better. People generally don’t get over the loss of a limb or sense easily; with the loss of his powers, it must have been as though Matt had lost every single thing he held dear.

Claire quickly told Matt what she had in mind for him. Like Luke he was feeling rather sceptical, but he had ‘witnessed’ so many strange things over the past few months that this medical procedure almost felt ordinary. By now he’d been without his powers for almost eleven hours, so he was quick to give Claire his consent and tell her to proceed. He already knew his powers weren’t ever going to come back unless a miracle took place. As ever, Claire was that miracle.  

The nurse made Matt another cup of coffee after she’d told him her plans and retreated into the kitchen with Luke, and that’s where we join them again today, on a night when all the things Matt Murdock loved seemed a million miles away. Including Frank. Claire had even playfully started calling him Matt’s ‘boyfriend’.

‘So where’s your boyfriend?’ she had said casually. She took her medical kit to the sofa and sat in front of Matt on the living room table as quietly as he could, and began to put her blue medical gloves on. They weren’t necessary, but they gave her a sense of comfort and familiarity. ‘I haven’t seen him for a while.’

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Matt whispered matter-of-factly before Claire took the cup of coffee from his hands and put it next to her on the table. The coffee had gone stone cold.

‘Really? That’s not the impression you two gave me earlier.’

‘It can’t be as obvious as what you and Luke feel for each other.’

The comment came as such a surprise that Claire let out a short, nervous laugh. It made Luke look over at her from across the room. Feeling like this was a medical procedure he could not assist with, he had stayed behind in the kitchen to clean up the stuff Matt had left there. (Dirty plates, half-full cups of coffee, stained tea towels, and so on.) He’d even gone so far as washing his sweat-stained clothes for him and putting back the furniture that the guy must have knocked over or bumped into when he was feeling lost and scared. It was the only thing Luke could do for him; he didn’t know Matt Murdock well enough to be able to help him completely. Luke wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

‘I’m impressed you noticed,’ Claire whispered, with a quick, guilty glance at Luke. She was for a second the perfect imitation of an infatuated school girl, then the professional nurse in her took over as she gave the syringe in her hands a quick once-over. It looked perfectly safe. For now. ‘Most people don’t know we’re dating yet.’

‘I don’t need special powers to hear the way you talk to him. A child could have noticed.’ Matt paused to consider what he was saying next. There was still that unimportant fact that he and Claire had once kissed. He still didn’t know what to call the brief relationship they’d had. ‘Is he good to you?’

The hurtful words ‘Better than you’ almost spilled out of Claire’s mouth, but she swallowed them at the last minute. There was no need for that kind of pettiness tonight. ‘Is Frank to you?’

He laughed that same, nervous laugh. It was replaced by a little wince when he felt Claire’s gloved hands on his skin.

‘I’m going to do the procedure now, okay?’ she said, in that perfect, reassuring voice that she’d used on a hundred, thousand different patients before him. Unfortunately her usually pitch-perfect spell didn’t do the trick tonight, so she told Matt to talk about Frank while she did her thing. He did so, but not without feeling strangely scared of the needle that was about to pierce his skin. Knives scared him less. It must have been the side-effects of the poison he’d been fed.

He thought about what he could tell her. He didn’t really feel like going through their arguments or recalling that moment they were only a zipper away from having sex. Eventually, he settled on the last thing he remembered before passing out and finding his powers gone. ‘He kissed me today, Claire. Twice.’

She uttered an impressed, interested sound. ‘Any good?’

‘I – I haven’t really had the time to think about it,’ he lied to her. He’d been thinking about it all evening.

Claire wasn’t backing down. ‘Now’s your chance,’ she pressed him.

A beat. Matt couldn’t find the words that would do Frank’s kiss justice. ‘He was good. A little rough.’

‘Go on,’ Claire said, with a teasing tilt at the end that made Matt unaware of the prick of the needle.

‘I mean, I wasn’t expecting it.’

‘At your place?’

‘We were having coffee.’

Claire laughed as if someone had made an inside joke. When she looked in Luke’s direction, she saw that her boyfriend was currently busying himself with all the dirty glasses in the sink. Some were so dirty that they took Luke three squirts of washing liquid to clean them back up, and he had only just avoided breaking one of them during his fervent scrubbing.

‘Usually when Luke mentions coffee, he’s talking about sex,’ Claire pointed out just loud enough for Luke to hear it. 

Matt blushed. ‘We haven’t gone there yet.’ _Frank drinks a lot of coffee, though_ , he thought. Whatever that means.

‘No?’ Claire sounded surprised. Playful but genuine curiosity tinted her next words. ‘What do you think he’s like?’

Matt turned a deeper shade of red. ‘Claire. Weren’t you going to inject me with something?’

‘Already done,’ Claire admitted complacently. It was followed by the unmistakeable sound of the nurse taking her gloves off and throwing them in the trash can Luke had put next to the table for her. She had successfully injected the blood without Matt feeling anything. Had he been a child, she would have distracted him with idle chats about balloon animals and fun fairs. But with Matt, the mere mention of Frank Castle was enough. ‘Feel anything? Your arm might feel a little sore.’

Matt shook his head. He was feeling the same way he did five minutes ago. There was still a deafening silence in his head as not a single heartbeat presented itself to him. Only his own heart ticked as erratically as it had all evening. It felt as if the fear and loss in him would never disappear. ‘I don’t feel anything,’ he said mournfully.

‘Give it time,’ Claire told him. She proceeded to put her things back into her medical kit, but not without probing Matt further. ‘So what do you think he’s like? Frank, I mean.’

Matt let out a deep sigh. Claire thought it sounded particularly dreamy. The question must have unlocked a distant memory or a deep-rooted wish for the future that the attorney had never considered before. Unbeknownst to her, Matt was, again, reminded of how perfect Frank’s lips had felt against his own. He again recalled the sinful, tantalising way Frank had wrapped his fingers around his neck and squeezed until a lack of air put every single one of Matt’s senses on edge and made him want more, more, more. He again smelled Frank’s cologne as they kissed that evening.

They’d been kisses that were as wonderful as the man who initiated them, and yet something was missing every time. Their first, tentative kisses in that cupboard up on the fourth floor were too masked by anger and aggression. Had Frank not been provoked by Matt’s comments about his dog, they would never have happened. Their first proper mouth-to-mouth kiss was just a smokescreen to trick the man who was after them. Again, it would never have happened had they not been followed to the café. And the kiss that Frank gave him that evening, right before he left? It was nowhere near as good as it could have been.

Matt just wanted _more_. He wanted everything to be right and intimate and perfectly within the privacy of his own home, but how could he ever enjoy being kissed again if he felt absolutely nothing?

‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. It was followed by a sad little skip of a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. ‘I wish I knew, Claire. I don’t even know he’s still alive.’

‘Strong guy like him? Of course he is,’ Luke interjected. He’d just done the last of the dishes and placed every piece of cutlery back in their respective cabinets. In his hands, he was holding a very dirty towel that smelled vaguely of yoghurt and old cottage cheese. ‘Got a place where I can put this?’ he said, more to Claire than to Matt. He guessed Claire knew her way around this apartment already.

‘The tea towel? You can just leave it there,’ Matt said nonchalantly. ‘I’ll put it away later, thanks, Luke.’

Claire and Luke shared a look. ‘How do you know he’s holding a towel?’ the nurse asked Matt. A quick inspection proved that he was definitely still, well, blind.

Matt frowned. ‘He just _said_ , Claire.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ Luke put the towel down, and Matt heard the comforting, soft rustling of fabric as the towel slid off the kitchen counter onto the floor. A faint whiff of lemon told him that Luke had used too much washing liquid. A change of temperature in the room made the hairs on the back of Claire’s neck stand on end. Claire stopped to notice it when Luke sat next to her and touched her hand.

_Ba-bump._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the next chapter.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we catch a glimpse of what vigilante life was like before Matt and Frank started liking each other. And back in a dirty warehouse, Frank comes face to face with the terrible things he's done . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for taking so long to update this!

—He was drifting in and out of consciousness.

—The world was not as it seemed. His hands and arms were closely tied together. He felt a pang when he thought his precious vial had been taken from him, but he couldn’t check because moving was impossible and a single wrong gesture would anger the stranger who was watching over him.

Or was that plural? He didn’t know. Couldn’t tell. His temple throbbed as a thick drop of wetness trickled down his face and made him smell blood.

—He was gone again.

—He started when a man dressed in black showed up. It was the head of the medical company.

And then it wasn’t. The man’s skin turned black. Thick fur crept up his skin from his toes to the top of his head and covered him up like an overgrown bush. He smiled at Frank, and sharp fangs glinted where there were supposed to be human teeth. Fangs the size of tusks; eyes fiery red. Frank thought he saw those eyes flicker.

—One moment Frank was seeing his dog in strange double vision, the next he was back in an underground lair with Daredevil.

He was tied up then too.

‘Frank,’ Matt had said. Just that one word. _Frank_. They were only just getting to know each other. Frank’s name still felt like blasphemy in the mouth of a person like Matt Murdock.

‘Red,’ Frank had responded. He sounded groggy. Grumpy, like he’d just woken up on the wrong side of the bed. In a way, he had; when he opened his eyes, he found himself in a basement the size of a small classroom. The floors were wet, and only a single, dimly lit lamp in a corner offered a sense of false security. The dark corners that the lamp did not reach made Frank feel scared; he did not know what was in them. Matt Murdock was there with him.

When he looked over at Daredevil, he saw that he was tied up to a chair too. As a precaution, his hands had been tied behind his back. The rest of the rope, a strong, braided rope made of nylon, had been wrapped lazily round his upper body. His Daredevil suit looked torn and dirty. A thin, finger-length promise of bloodied skin suggested that a knife had cut right through the red material.  

Frank would have ordinarily have found the sight appealing (he _had_ tied Matt Murdock up before), but this wasn’t really doing it for him at the moment. (Okay, maybe a little bit.) It was clear, from the off, that something was very wrong here.

‘What’s going on here, Red?’

Matt sounded surprised. ‘You don’t remember?’

Frank make a face as if to say ‘well duh’. ‘Do _you_?’

A silence passed over the two of them. Frank could tell by the look on Matt’s face that he was concentrating hard. He was probably trying to gauge the time it’d take them to get from the basement to the front door by listening to the puddles of water on the floor or whatever weird shit he did with his powers. Or maybe he was just wondering how best to tell him he’d been knocked out.

The short pause allowed Frank to take in the shape of Matt’s body in that chair again. He liked the way Matt was pushing his chest up _just so_ as if he was subconsciously trying to break through his nylon contraption. His slender fingers were trying to reach the rope his wrists had been tied with, but every time he moved the rope would move up an inch. A fight Frank could not remember had rendered parts of Matt’s suit a darker shade of red. There was a cut on his lips. His thighs looked bigger than usual in this position, and Frank inwardly cursed himself for wanting to sit and ride on top of him.

‘You’re hurt,’ Matt said finally.

‘What?’

‘There’s blood running down your temple. Your heartbeat has slowed down considerably.’

Frank wanted to move his fingers to his temple, but then he remembered he was tied to a chair. He groaned. Somehow, the realization that he was hurt made him more annoyingly aware of the pain. ‘Bastards must’ve knocked me out. Fuck, Red, I don’t even remember getting here.’

‘We split up once we realized we’d been spotted. When I got brought here you were already passed out. I figured one of Nelson’s lackeys had gotten to you.’

‘And you decided you’d just let me sleep, huh?’

The half-dark made it impossible to see the flush on Matt’s face. ‘I thought you looked rather peaceful, Frank.’

‘That’s hilarious, Red. So the guy who brought you here, did you see his face?’

A beat. ‘What do you think, Frank?’ Matt calmly replied.

Frank felt himself grow hot. ‘I mean, did you get a chance to figure out who he was?’

‘It wasn’t the head of the company, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just a lackey of his. I don’t even think Nelson’s in right now.’

Frank cursed under his breath. ‘This is pointless, Red. What are we gonna do, huh? Sit here until one of his men comes to fucking take us down?’

‘We don’t know if that’s what he’s capable of,’ Matt pointed out. ‘We’re just here to gather evidence, that’s it.’

‘His men tied us up in a basement, Red. What do you _think_ he’s fucking capable of? What did you wanna do, huh? Get the police to arrest him and take him to court? Wait until he fucks up and the authorities come knocking on his door?’ He nodded at his own, tied-up body. ‘Here you go, Red. This is all the evidence you need, right here.’ He stopped to catch his breath and scoffed. ‘You’re exhausting, you know that? Should have kept you on that rooftop. Bet you’d still be there if I had, you know.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ Matt said in a small voice.

‘Damn right I do. That partnership you were talking about the other day? Forget it.’

This comment unlocked something in Matt. He struggled against the ropes that were holding him. (Frank rather enjoyed the look of it.) ‘You _need_ me, Frank.’

‘Really? Then why haven’t you gotten us out of here then, huh?’ Here, he left a deliberate pause. ‘I’m waiting, Red. You’re always saying we’re better together, but I think you’re just talking shit.’

Matt gave an annoyed little huff but concentrated anyway. He’d show Frank how badly he needed Daredevil yet.

He already knew they were in a basement: the texture and gentle sloping of the floor had suggested as much. Judging by the lack of echo in their voices, the basement was small, maybe the size of a large living room. Matt’s foot had stepped into a thin puddle of water while he was brought here, which suggested nothing important was kept down here. Only a fool would store his valuables in a place that wasn’t water-resistant. It made sense that the basement was empty, too: they were chasing an internet executive, after all. He wasn’t likely to keep physical copies of the things that made his practices illegal; they had to be kept on a computer, on an external hard drive or USB, which was exactly why Matt had foolishly recruited the help of Frank Castle.

Looking back now, he should probably have gotten in touch with that hacker Clint had once told him about. Oh well.

Only on their fourth or fifth ‘mission’ together, Frank and Matt were not really getting along. Frank was rather testy and grumpy. He was the perfect caricature of that one colleague who doesn’t say a word until he’s had his first cup of coffee; every day, every mission. One night Matt told him exactly that, and the next day Frank had deliberately taken a travel coffee mug with him to prove a point. You know, one of those stainless steel ones that intolerable adolescents take with them on the subway. Matt had never mentioned Frank’s mood since. (The mug did come in useful during a fight later, though.)

But it didn’t just stop there. Frank also had a tendency to disobey orders. As in, he never listened. Ever. If Matt told Frank to head left, Frank would head right. If Matt told Frank to please not shoot anyone, Frank would do just that. It was as if Frank was deliberately trying to piss him off with that cold, callous character of his.

Frank wasn’t completely emotionless, though. Whenever he and Matt met each other in their respective superhero/vigilante suits, Frank’s heart rate would go up considerably. Weird. Matt wrongly mistook it for some sort of residual resentment after what they’d put each other through, but it was, in fact, the direct result of seeing Matt’s ass in that goddamn outfit . . .

Jesus Christ, did Frank want to punish Matt for making him feel that way. No, not punish him. Torture him. Make him feel the same way. Even now, Frank was getting the fucking hots for Matt while they were both still tied up. He bet he was still a virgin too, the righteous, self-complacent choir boy that he was. He looked like it. It was probably why Matt had begged him to spend more time with him; fifty dollars said the attorney couldn’t get laid. Karen had probably come the closest, but Karen didn’t talk about Matt Murdock like that anymore. That ship had sailed a long, long time ago. Matt was as alone in love as Frank was.

Of course, he hadn’t been to Matt’s apartment then yet. Once he had – and looked past the terrible state the place was in –, Frank would know better. He’d see the shirts and skirts that Matt had hidden underneath his pillows or carelessly draped over an armchair. He’d recognise the half-empty glasses of beer that were left over from last night’s fun. But back then, in that basement, Matt Murdock was nothing more than an incomprehensible crush.

‘Discovered anything yet?’ Frank urged him, impatient to get these ropes off and leave. Every time he thought he’d managed to slip out of the ropes that bound his wrists together, a dull pain shot through his hands. He must have tried fighting out of here before he got knocked out. He didn’t know whether that reassured or worried him.

At last, Matt appeared to have heard something in the midst of the noise in his head. The sounds that Frank was making were particularly tricky to look past; his heartbeat was a constant nuisance that Matt was still getting used to. The way its beat resonated in his own chest made for a great, unfamiliar distraction. Was Frank scared or was he just feeling overly confident that _he_ would find a way out of here sooner? What _did_ his racing heartbeat mean?

And yet; Matt concentrated, and there came three sets of footsteps. Through the thick door that separated the basement from the rest of this building, Matt smelled adrenaline and fear. _Fear_. How strange.

‘Three men are headed towards us now,’ Matt told Frank. ‘They’re carrying guns. I think they’re young. Scared. We could _talk_ to them, Frank.’

Frank mockingly imitated him. ‘They’re _scared_. That’s real reassuring, Red. It only means they’re more fucking likely to kill us.’ During this outburst, Frank was still trying and failing to get his ropes off. He was _this_ close to doing it. ‘Do you know how stupid you look right now, by the way? With your stupid ass just sitting there all cool and collected? Well, lemme tell you, Red, I ain’t planning to stay here and get killed in this damn chair. But talk to them all you like.’

Matt wasn’t sure what he deserved this tirade for. ‘You’re still _tied up_ , Frank.’

‘Am I, Red? _Am I?_ ’

Matt scoffed. ‘Honestly, Frank, do you have to turn _everything_ into an arg—’

He would never finish his sentence, for he was rudely cut off when the door opened.

In came, indeed, three men. They emitted the unmistakable aura of youth, of being inexperienced. To Frank, they looked young, maybe in their twenties. They were tall, but their bodies were skinny and they had none of the scars that experienced thugs had. Their eyes were still bright, although some of the shine was starting to wear off. They must have been damn desperate for cash if they decided to work for such a corrupt software company.

Matt had made it very clear that he just wanted to go in to gather evidence of irredeemable activity within the walls of this building, but Frank wasn’t so sure about that now. With the guns these guys were holding, he could just say he was provoked.

One of the young men addressed Daredevil. He spoke with a slight accent, although his grammar was pretty much perfect. ‘What do you think you’re doing, coming here?’ he asked Matt. They’d done him the courtesy of letting him keep his helmet on. Even criminals in an underground lair understood what privacy meant to a man. Or maybe it was just their youth that made them do it.

‘Proving you’re all dirty scumbags,’ Frank interjected before Daredevil could answer.

‘You think we don’t know what this company is doing?’ Daredevil offered more diplomatically. He was addressing all three of them. ‘It’s wrong. We’ll prove it.’

‘Prove it how?’ the man with the accent said. ‘You’re tied to a chair.’

As if on cue, the rope round Frank’s wrists loosened and fell into his open palms. He could use it as a weapon if he wanted to. His skin felt red and sore from the friction of the hard nylon, but he was free. If only he kept up the pretence for a little while longer, he could use his liberty to his advantage and take everyone out with ropes and the chair he was sitting on.

Matt had noticed it already, of course. _He_ hadn’t been quite so successful untying himself behind his back. Frank was almost tempted to keep it that way.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ Matt urged the three men. Frank couldn’t tell whether he was doing it to buy time or out of a genuine interest to save these men from the eternal fires of hell. ‘I know that you’re scared. I understand. But we can help you. You can still get out while you can. Just . . . tell us where we can find the files we came for. Please. You don’t have to be scared of your boss anymore.’

The same young man scoffed. ‘ _Scared_? You mean like _this_ scared?’ He cocked his gun and pressed the barrel against The Punisher’s forehead hard. Only Matt’s sensitive ears had registered Frank’s sharp, unfamiliar intake of breath. ‘I think you should be more scared of us than we are of you. We know what we’re doing. But you, you just think you can come here and steal our things.’ He looked at Matt as if he pitied him. ‘I know you. You’re not the type who pulls trigger. But I am.’

Frank’s eyes flicked up at the man whose gun was threatening him. Matt noticed a dangerous spike of adrenaline in his system.

—He was being provoked. Fine. Let’s see who’s better at this shit.

—‘You don’t have the balls,’ Frank taunted. He gave the young man a taunting once-over. ‘Look at you, pal. You’re shaking.’

—‘I’m not shaking.’

—He was.

‘Yes, you are. You’re a fucking pussy, pal. You think you’re real cool walking around with that gun, huh? Think you’re strong?’ The man with the gun was breathing hard. His temperature had gone up. Sweat covered his forehead. ‘You’re not. You’re just as filthy as the man you’re protecting, you know.’

‘Shut up.’

Frank wasn’t letting go. His confidence was going way over his head. He would end this _his_ way. The wrong way. ‘Does he have something on you, son? Huh? Is that why you’re here? Did he promise you he wouldn’t tell anyone what he’d done to you as long as you worked for him?’ Frank scoffed. He regarded the man with the gun with pity. ‘He did, didn’t he?’

He got shot. Too late.

—‘I’m telling the truth. I wasn’t the one who had your dog kidnapped.’

The impact of the bullet in Frank’s quasi-nightmare woke him up with a start. When he looked round him, he saw that he was still in the warehouse. Tied to a chair, just like in his nightmare. Except it wasn’t a nightmare. It had all happened. All of it. But it had had quite a different ending.

In front of him, a stranger was sitting on top of one of a dozen pallets of white boxes; not brown ones like the ones Frank had used to kill his opponents a lifetime ago, but white ones. They were the recalled batches of dog medicine. Every single one. He’d reached the final destination of this mission at last, but it was nothing like he had expected.

‘You dozed off again, so you probably don’t remember what we were talking about,’ the man said menacingly. Frank didn’t recognize him. He felt like he’d just woken up from a four-hour nap, and the world still needed to get back into focus. The last thing he remembered was being faced by dogs in a narrow aisle, but it seemed like such an odd position to be in now that he thought about it. Had that really happened, or was it just old memories mixed up with recent ones like the nightmare he’d had?

No, it had definitely happened. But how had Frank survived it?

‘I was just saying how I didn’t order your dog to be taken,’ the stranger went on vaguely. He was older than the men he’d met earlier, grey hairs and all. There was something quite regal about him. It didn’t make sense that he was behind this entire operation, but then again what did? ‘It was just an accident, Frank. An unfortunate one, really. I bet if it hadn’t happened you wouldn’t care about all this. You’d just be trying to take down another crew in another neighbourhood. Your dog would be happier for it, too.’

Frank’s gut went cold. ‘I swear to God, you bastard, if you killed him—’ Frank trailed off, the strength of his words belying how utterly scared he felt.

‘Kill him? Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re the only one doing the killing here, Punisher.’ He saw the look on Frank’s face. ‘Don’t you remember? Oh, the poor things, they never stood a chance. Maybe _you’re_ the real animal here.’

Frank struggled against the ropes that were holding him. ‘You’re lying,’ he hissed. He didn’t want to believe it. He refused to accept he could be that kind of man. At the same time, an image of seven, maybe eight dogs flashed before his eyes. He saw, again, how he reached for the gun hidden in the folds of his jacket and shot the first dog he saw. Then the second. Then the third. Blood painted the warehouse floor while the reds in the shot dogs’ eyes faded to black. Furry limbs became as stiff and lifeless as Frank’s thoughts.

These dogs were just as mortal as the ones he’d seen in a kennel. The medicine had not made them bulletproof or given them furs of steel.

The tirade had gone on for three minutes until the only living creature was Frank, standing in a sea of dogs he’d shot to heaven. He’d murdered them all. Because he had to. He _had_ to. As ever, this was not a game that had winners and losers; just losers. He knew it had to pass, that it had to happen if he ever wanted to stop this plot for once and for all, but God, did it make him feel miserable. It was as if all the life had been sucked out of _him_ too.

And what a fool he’d been to think he would just forget it all.

The stranger had deliberately waited for the penny to drop. He recognised the glint of recollection in Frank’s eye. At last, the vigilante remembered what he’d done. ‘Do you see now who the real monster is now? It’s you, Castle. No one else. I’m just trying to run a business here, but _you_ — you just rob innocent animals of their lives because you think you’re a saviour.’

‘You left me no choice,’ Frank said. He tried to look the stranger in the eye, but he couldn’t do it. If he did, it would mean they were on the same level. It’d be like admitting Frank was just as rotten. Instead, he cast down his eyes as if he were ashamed of himself.

All those lives he’d taken, and these were the ones that hurt the most. They were just animals, pets — and now they were all dead. All because of him. This man, this stranger could be right; if Frank’s dog hadn’t been taken, would he even give a damn?

‘They were beyond saving,’ Frank added, more to the floor than the man that was in front of him. Perhaps if he said it enough, he’d actually believe it.

‘Ah, you see, that’s where you’re wrong,’ the stranger said. He hopped off his makeshift throne of white boxes and medicine and started towards his prisoner slowly, hands in the pockets of his three-piece suit. He emitted an aura of royalty, of believing he owned the very inches he thread upon. Frank hated him for it. Cronies and thugs he could deal with, but men like him were the worst because they were as unreachable and untouchable as fog, their words acting as the only laws they knew:

‘Those dogs weren’t beyond _saving_ ; _we_ saved them. They were just pets, Castle. Playthings for some kid who’ll one day lose interest. We simply took these dogs and made them reach their full potential, that’s it. Shouldn’t these dogs be allowed to roam free, to do as they like? Shouldn’t they be spared the humiliation of being stuck in a kennel day in, day out?’

Frank saw the stranger’s squeaky clean shoes enter his gaze, and he had no choice but to look up at him again. The words were out before they had thought them. ‘You mean as long as they listen to a bitch like you.’

This provoked the stranger to lash out. His fist hit Frank in the face and made him taste blood.

The Punisher spat out the red promise on the man’s shoes, and he felt his former, senseless self return to his bruised and broken body. If this is how this guy wanted to play the game, then so be it. He was tired of pretending he could be anything like the untouchable Matt Murdock.

‘Lemme just pretend for a second that I know what the hell you’re talking about,’ Frank said, the taste and smell of blood momentarily blocking the sins from his thoughts. ‘Then what’s your play? What are you after? You look too damn smart to be after a city take-over,’ he added, referring to the clothes the stranger was in. It was a grey three-piece suit, with just the hint of dull ocean blue bleeding through. The white ends of a dress shirt popped out from underneath his sleeves. The man’s shoes looked brand new — or rather, they had before Frank decided to spit on them.

But this clean image didn’t stop there. For the mastermind behind such a dangerous operation, the man’s face didn’t quite look battered enough; while he was a lot older than Frank, there were no scars or wrinkles meandering down his smooth face. Two minutes ago, his knuckles still looked clean. There was not a single stain on his jacket. It must mean, then, that he was letting his crew do all the dirty work for him. He was nothing more than a chess player who was moving his pieces across the board: the cronies, the dogs, the Punisher, and Daredevil. All he had to do was direct them in the right way and his empire would grow beyond recognition. Indeed, an empire:

‘You’re wrong again,’ the man said. He gave Frank a thin smile. ‘It’s true, letting those rabid dogs out on the street will create absolute chaos, but that’s not why we’re doing it. Just imagine how much money we could earn selling the _antidote._ ’ He saw the changed look on Frank’s face. ‘What, that never occurred to you? It’s all about the _money_ , Castle. You have no idea how much money we’ll earn selling those counter-meds to the general public. People will buy anything if it means they’ll sleep better knowing that their dog won’t be affected by a city-wide epidemic.’

A beat. ‘You’re insane.’

‘That’s not the word I’d use. Shrewd, I think is the right description. We’re merely creating a problem and a solution at the same time. The problem?’ He waved at the piles of boxes behind him. ‘Rabid dogs. Everywhere. Even that cute Chihuahua you saw at the kennel earlier. The solution? Expensive counter-meds, available only from me.’

Frank tried to ignore the prickling feeling on the back of his neck. This guy had been watching him and Matt ever since they got together to solve this shit. God knows what he knew. ‘Is the head of the medical company behind this? Roger?’

The stranger set his jaw. ‘No. But it’s very kind of him that he’s decided to manufacture that antidote for the _poor_ dogs who’ve been affected. Now all we have to do is copy it. Speaking of,’ he said, demonstratively rolling up the bloodied sleeves of his suit and shirt, ‘I’m gonna need you to give me back that vial you took from my friend back at Roger’s. Can’t have the antidote falling into the wrong hands, now can I?’

Frank’s body stiffened. ‘I don’t have it.’

The stranger uttered a maddening _ha_. ‘That’s funny. Where is it, Castle?’ He looked Frank up and down. It was an almost canine, searching look that made the hairs on the back of Frank’s neck stand on end. ‘Your pockets, perhaps? Jacket? I do love a good jacket. I bet you’ve been keeping that vial close to your chest to save your _precious_ dog from me.’

‘Like I said, I don’t have it.’

The man gave a rare, knowing grin before punching Frank again, hard. It made Frank taste more blood. More reasons to kill this guy.

‘Don’t make me ask again, Castle. _Where is it_?’

‘Go to hell.’

This prompted another punch, but it didn’t have the reaction the stranger was expecting. Instead, Frank started laughing through bloodied teeth like someone had made a joke only he understood. The stranger _was_ that joke. ‘You’re all talk but no play, man,’ he chuckled weakly. A thick tear of blood ran down his temple. ‘What were you gonna do, huh? Punch me all day? Keep me here? It – won’t – _work_.’

The man looked beaten. Frank thought he finally had him, but then the stranger stood taller and fished a relatively large smartphone out of his pockets. Again, it implied this guy was rich. Powerful. ‘I didn’t want to do this, Castle, but you’ve left me no choice.’ He was swiping left and right on the touch screen. Blood stained its immaculate grey casing. ‘I’m going to have your dog killed.’

‘You’re bluffing.’

The man looked up from his phone. ‘You don’t know that. Do you really want to have the life of yet another animal on your conscience? _Do you_?’

This comment hurt Frank to the core. He cast down his eyes, ashamed. The realization that he’d have to give up the counter-medicine – and his last connection to his dog – made him shiver in his chair until he remembered, with humiliation, where he’d kept the vial. ‘It’s in my boxers,’ he admitted through gritted teeth.

This caught the man off guard only for a second. ‘Clever guy. Now, this might feel uncomfortable.’

The stranger didn’t give another warning before unceremoniously shoving his right hand inside Frank’s pants. Frank shut his eyes tightly, hoping the threat would go away, but it didn’t. It was humiliating. The strong smell of cologne and bad breath was almost overwhelming. But Frank didn’t have a choice. It was this, or having the life of his pet on his conscience. He’d suffer through almost anything as long as he could save the first creature that loved this broken version of him.

The man gave a superfluous, peremptory squeeze, and he finally removed his hand with the vial inside it. It was the only remaining one: the vial Frank had taken to save his dog. Without it, Frank would have no chance to ever get his pet back.

He could still talk the stranger out of it. That’s what Matt would do, right? He’d talk and — and find a way to make a bad thing better. ‘Please,’ he pleaded, the unfamiliar desperation in his voice burning as hotly as his cheeks, ‘I just want to save my dog.’

‘You just want to save your dog,’ the man reiterated mockingly. He was looking at the vial of green liquid as if he were a child watching a play. Frank almost thought he could see the man change his mind, see the goodness in his eyes, but it was already too late; the vial hit the ground before anyone could catch it. The stranger had destroyed it deliberately.

Frank stared at the shattered remains of the vial. Its green liquid had slipped through the cracks in the floor and disappeared; it was no more than a downpour in an empty street, with the water disappearing through the drains in the ground; flowing down the rain pipes tightly fastened to brown brick walls. Just like that, the liquid was gone. Rendered useless.

‘You son of a bitch.’

The man ignored the choice of language. ‘There. Now not a single drop of this stuff still exists,’ he said. He straightened his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief to clean the blood and guilt off his hands. ‘Of course, that’s what we want people to think. We’ve still got loads of this stuff. But it’s gonna cost you. How does $4000 sound?’

Like fog on a quiet October morning, an out of place sense of calm fell over Frank. Suddenly, he knew exactly what needed to be done. He saw everything clearly now, and it was the calmest, single most comforting thought he’d ever had. ‘I’m going to kill you.’

The man scoffed. ‘How? You’re still tied up.’

Frank was grinning when he showed the stranger his freed, upturned hands. ‘Am I?’


	23. Chapter 23

Once Frank had shown the criminal mastermind his free, empty wrists, the rest was disappointingly easy. He avoided a fist, leapt off his chair, grabbed it tight, then spun it round and used it to bash the stranger’s ugly head in. Down he went like a sack of potatoes. He’d no longer be using dogs or mindless cronies as his puppets. The only thing he’d be remembered for was the pale blue suit that managed to stay spotless even as Frank finished him off.

Like the stranger before it, the wooden chair ceased to be upon impact; it fell into straight, hard pieces on the floor, and Frank had to fight the urge to pierce one of its splintered legs through the stranger’s heart as a final reckoning. Judging by the head wound where the chair had hit him, the man was probably already dead anyway. Rendered as useless as all the boxes, memorabilia, food and other sundries in this warehouse, he’d lie here until rats came to fish the flesh off his rotting body. Should Frank have spared him and handed him over to the authorities that Matt respected so much? Perhaps, but Frank was no longer in a forgiving mood. The stranger had lost his chances at redemption the moment he admitted he was in it for the money. There was no saving him. This mission ended with him.

Frank didn’t feel like staying for long. He rubbed his wrists where the rope had rubbed red streaks into his skin, then made his way to the pile of boxes the stranger had sat on in four big, quick steps. There were about a dozen boxes in total; standard, carton varieties the size of moving boxes. Just a single one would be enough to contaminate the entire canine population of Hell’s Kitchen; a dozen or less would transform every single dog in the entire city and wreak havoc unlike any the world had ever been through. Forget green giants, aliens and metal soldiers; having a malevolent dog in almost every New York household would be like letting loose a million parasites.

Despite his usual love for grandeur, Frank didn’t feel like turning the destruction of the boxes into a ceremony. They looked pretty flammable, so he gathered some of the bloodied pieces of wood that had previously made a chair, then positioned them so that they formed an excellent bonfire. It was almost romantic, if you were into that sort of thing. (He was, FYI. He quite often had saccharine fantasies of him and Matt sitting round a bonfire while their dog was asleep on a bag of marshmallows. He didn’t know why. Perhaps he just liked the idea of him and Matt finally being warm, and safe, and in a place that wasn’t a warehouse.)

Having thus had a slight predilection for setting things on fire ever since he started donning his intimidating Punisher suit, Frank always carried an old-fashioned box of matches. He looked round him to make sure he was quite alone (the stranger in the suave suit still looked quite dead), then took it out. He pressed the match against the box and dragged it along the striker as quickly as he could. No luck; the match broke in half in his enthusiasm.

Unaware of what was happening behind him, Frank tried again. This time, the match successfully caught fire. He dropped the match into the pile of boxes, medicines and wood, and he watched, in awe, how a tiny flame turned into a bigger one. Smoke appeared, and pristine white carton turned black under his very eyes. It was a glorious little sight, and Frank would probably have felt some sort of relief had he not then heard the growling of a very, very large dog.

His own.

Frank slowly turned round. The fire continued crisping behind him; its hands turned thick paper black upon impact and made carton boxes bend in courtesy. Within seconds, the medicine that was inside them was rendered useless until only dust was left. It really ought to have been a victorious occasion, but Frank only had eyes and ears for the dog that had crept up behind him.

How silly he was for thinking this would end easily.

It must be the smoke, he told himself. It’s getting to me. The chemicals that were inside the medicines are borderline hallucinogenic. This is just my imagination. My dog is not here, in the midst of the fire; he’s safe. The stranger let him go.

Wrong. All wrong.

No matter how much Frank tried telling himself otherwise, this was definitely his dog: the one he had saved from dangerous thugs so many years ago. There was no doubt about it. There were those cute front paws; the patches of white fur that now looked dirty and red; the eyes that had always looked at Frank with so much love and compassion but were now staring back at him blankly. There was so little recognition in his canine features that Frank might as well have been a stranger.

It was a terrible thing to come to terms with. Frank had killed the head of this entire operation and found the meds that so badly needed destroying, but in fact, he hadn’t done anything at all. No matter what he did, no matter how many thugs he killed, no matter how hard the flames licked their surroundings behind him, there was always going to be this defeat. With no more hidden counter-meds, cronies, or criminal masterminds to beg for help, Frank might as well have lost.

He’s lost.

I

If he hurries up, he might just make it. He doesn’t know what Frank has done to make his heart beat so very fast, but it’s got to be bad. It always is. For while there are parts of Frank’s character that Matt has yet to make sense of, he does know every beat of his heart inside out; every sound, every gentle, rhythmic patter when they kiss or touch. He knows by now that Frank’s heart only ever truly beats fast when the two of them together. All the other things usually leave Frank cold. Even death. Death does not scare him.

But now, as Matt’s being driven through city streets to head to the old warehouse he thinks Frank is, he knows his lover’s heartbeat isn’t beating fast because of something good, but because of something terrible. If he listens hard, he might even be able to make out a heartbeat that is neither human nor animal . . .

I

Every hope Frank had left disappeared and made room only for piercing emptiness. Everything about this dog was the same – every growl, every move, every hair on his its unnaturally large body – and yet it was nothing alike at all. This was not his dog, this was a shell. A puppet. A criminal mastermind’s.

He had to try, at least. Frank made a tentative step forward, but his previous pet dog only growled. Its red eyes were as bright as the small fire that licked the pieces of wood on the floor, except they were ten times as painful and just as deadly.

The only place Frank could go was forward, towards his dog: behind him, his only choice was to be swallowed by tall flames. It would probably be a much more gracious death than to be eaten alive by a dog he had once called his friend. Even the death by drowning Frank had narrowly avoided a couple of days ago looked like a less painful option now that he was looking his old friend in the eyes.

He had to act quickly. By now, half of the boxes and their contents had turned to a crisp. The medicines had long disappeared, but this was far from over.

‘Buddy,’ Frank began slowly, and he instantly hated how anxious he sounded. How bad had things become that he, a vigilante, a killer, was close to breaking? ‘It’s me, Frank. Your . . .’ What are we? ‘I’m your pal.’

This was met with a low growl. Red eyes looked even brighter in the glow of the fire. No recognition. Of course not.

‘ _Please_ ,’ Frank went on as though the dog might understand the meaning of words after all. His hands up in a rare surrender, Frank looked as helpless as Matt had when he lost his powers. If the suave, criminal mastermind was still alive to see this, he would judge him for having stooped so low. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, buddy. Let’s go back home, huh?’

These words sounded utterly desperate uttered by Frank’s usually sharp, sarcastic tongue, and they made no impact on the animal whatsoever. With the fire by now having reached every box, piece of paper, and wooden shard, time was truly running out. Either Frank would make his dog remember who he was, or he’d die along with him.

Frank made another step forward, hand outstretched in an attempt to pet his estranged dog. The dog only bared its teeth: _step away, or I’ll bite. You and I don’t belong._

|

The smell of the fire is the first thing he notices. He can’t see its red, fiery glow, but he can feel it even from miles away. He doesn’t know if it’s a good sign. It’s got to be, Claire tells him as they drive. It’s got to be. Don’t worry, Matt. He’ll be fine. He can take care of himself.

Matt isn’t so sure about that anymore.

|

There wasn’t a moment to lose. The fire was blazing to its full, deadly potential. There was a strong smell of chemicals in the air: the pills and tablets that so many had sought but failed to find. There was nothing left of them. Even a good chemist would not be able to magic the pills back into their packs of ten.

With the bonfire soon becoming unstoppable and potentially taking along the entire warehouse on its short path to destruction, it seemed clear that Frank had only one choice to make: move forward, towards his dog, or move into the flames that would burn him alive.

Alas; the dog pounced the moment Frank put a single step forward.

Frank was lying flat on his back within seconds. His head hit hard concrete, but it was only a pinch compared to the pain he was going to feel next.

They struggled. Unfamiliar panic took over Frank’s body as stained teeth flashed in front of his eyes. Front paws on his chest made him unable to move.

It was awful; it was humiliating; it was nothing like playing with his precious pet. (They’d do that sometimes, when they played catch or rolled in the wet grass together after a long walk in the park. Those were always the best walks, especially when they decided to visit Matt after and the attorney would complain that the dog was making a smelly mess on the carpet.) It wasn’t even like the first time Frank got attacked by a transformed dog in similar surroundings four or five days ago; this was worse. Much worse. At least back then, Frank would have gotten away with sending a bullet into the creature’s white, furry belly; now, Frank couldn’t even pull a single hair on the dog’s body for fear of hurting the one pet that just _had_ to be hidden behind those blood red eyes.

The meeting was every bit as bad as Frank had feared. He couldn’t move; couldn’t act. The dog stank of blood and dirt. Sharp nails drew hot red marks across Frank’s skin even through his thick suit. They stung more than a thousand papercuts. Fur that Frank had once petted felt matted and dirty, and it was the only thing he could cling to when the creature pushed him even firmer against the wet concrete floor and sank its teeth into him. It drew blood. A lot of blood. Enough to almost kill him.

Yet completely terrified, completely reluctant to hurt, to maim, to scar, there was nothing the Punisher could do. No matter how much he struggled against the stinking weight on top of him, Frank could not get himself to hurt the animal. A sharp pain shot through his arm, and yet he did not have it in him to pierce the dog’s skin with a piece of wood on the floor. He wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t. Just couldn’t.

Like when he almost drowned a lifetime ago, his sight was going blurry. His body became lighter than feathers, and he almost felt relieved to find his sight going entirely.

Next were his limbs. He could move them no more.

His thoughts were the third part of him to be affected. Perhaps it’s better if it ends here, he thinks. Let us be swallowed by flames. Let this damn fire turn us to dust and ash until we can’t feel a single thing anymore. That’ll be a way to go, he thinks. What a way to go.

Even the thought of Matt couldn’t keep him clinging on. When he was drowning, the thought of Matt Murdock’s pert little ass was enough to spur him on. He swam back to the surface, hurt and dying, because he suddenly realised that he wanted the attorney more than anything. Now, all the lack of oxygen is making him feel is the quiet, terrifying notion that everything ends. Maybe not all dogs go to heaven after all.

Frank felt himself go weaker still. He sent a final, half-assed quasi-prayer Matt’s way to curse him for the way he made him feel, then let it all wash over him. The pain became dull. He no longer struggled against the beast that was trying to destroy him as large flames covered the whole warehouse in a dangerous orange glow. Flames licked his feet, and Frank almost thought his body was finally about to succumb to the pain when the dog let out a sad little growl and went still on top of him. A short breath was the final thing it uttered.

It took Frank’s brain a moment to register the lack of sharp, grabby paws on top of him. His eyes flicked open when he did. ‘No. _No_.’

Even in his agonising pain, Frank still managed to push his former pet off of him. It slipped onto the wet warehouse floor like a sad bag of potatoes, lifeless and still. It would be doing no more biting.

‘No, no, no, no, no . . .’

Frank looked up at the flames that surrounded him, then at his dog on the floor. Torn between heartbreak and fear, fear of the flames, fear of death, he felt only the pain that his dog had put him in. His Punisher suit was torn and his hands and legs were bleeding, but it was nothing compared to the single, aching realisation that pierced his heart like a knife.

This was not how things were supposed to go. He was ready to die with his dog, but the creature looked quite dead already. It had gone before him.

‘ _Buddy_?’ Pain shot through Frank’s arms when he used his hands to rouse the dog awake. They were covered in blood.

No response. Frank tried the more gentle approach of petting it. Still nothing. Nothing at all.

The part of Frank’s mind that was still consciously awake drowned him in questions. How could this have happened to the animal? Was it the struggle? Was it the smoke? (Frank only now became aware of it and coughed and coughed until the pain in his chest almost made it impossible.) Had Frank killed him unknowingly? Or had the medicine finally its toll on the dog’s poor body and soul and saved him from death by fire?

Frank didn’t know. He really didn’t. And how could he? He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t expected it; only seconds after it had struggled with Frank on the floor and nearly killed him, the dog’s body went stone cold and still. Even the fire that had by now reached the boxes high atop the metal constructions all around them could not bring it back to life. It was quite as if the life had gone out inside it, and the only thing Frank could do while the world turned fire-red was hold his dog tight and weep.

Frank barely managed it. The ache in his body became so bad that he couldn’t even pet the dog anymore. Eventually, the pain was the last thing he felt, and his dead dog was the last thing he saw before he quietly dozed off in a circle of flames.


	24. Chapter 24

Streetlights and lit shop facades flashed by him in quick streaks of white, yellow and gold. The wind that rushed through a half-open window felt colder than ever on the cuts on his arms. Holes in the road made him bump his head against the car window, but it wasn’t what roused him awake. The pain was.

Frank thought he had but dreamed it, but the pain was more present than ever when he opened his eyes and found himself sitting in a large, empty van that smelled of blood. (His own.) Claire Temple, Matt’s friend, was sitting next to him in the driver’s seat and looked a lot less caring than when they first met. She was also driving much faster than she ought to on these roads.

Claire looked at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘Try not to move,’ she said when Frank put his injured hand to his arm. ‘You’ve lost a _lot_ of blood.’

Disoriented and lost, Frank couldn’t at all remember how he had gotten there. He certainly didn’t remember the bandages and band aids that covered most of his body. Even his fists looked bloodier than ever. ‘What happened?’ he said, not looking at Claire but taking in the state of his hands in the half-dark of the night.

Claire swallowed. She still wasn’t looking Frank directly in the eyes. ‘You don’t remember,’ she said, and it came out as a fact that needed some mulling over.

‘Remember what?’

Claire tightened her hold on the steering wheel. She turned a hard left, and another bump in the road made agonising pain shoot through Frank’s legs. It made Frank look down at the rest of his body for the first time since waking up, and the sight was almost enough to make him pass out again.

It was bad. Real bad. His Punisher suit was torn from top to bottom as though a wolf had drawn his claws into it. Red flesh was on show where previously a large white skull had been. There was a large cut on his thigh too, about the length of a finger. Every other cut had been badly covered up as if an amateur had done it.

Claire saw Frank looking. ‘In my defence, you were being a terrible patient.’

‘Why?’

She gave a stubborn little huff. ‘No way am I going to have this talk with you while you’re bleeding all over my mom’s van, Frank.’

‘ _Claire_. What happened?’

For the first time that evening, Claire looked Frank in the eye. It was hard to say whether she saw him as the hard vigilante that had Matt once defended in court or the man whom her sort-of ex had a strange crush on. Neither option made for particularly easy conversation, and the only other time Claire had seen the Punisher in the flesh was when he was half-dead on Matt’s sofa. There was no way of knowing how he would react if he knew about the state his dog was in.

Finally, Claire spoke. ‘It’s your dog, Frank.’ She shook her head in that way people do when they’ve lost someone. ‘You . . . we were too late. I’m sorry. ’

Frank felt his insides go cold. He remembered now. He’d gone to the warehouse to find the dog medicine, then met the head of the operation and came face to face with his dog. He didn’t remember the rest, only how empty he felt when his dog went still on top of him. ‘Where – where is he?’

Claire didn’t know what to say. She was well versed in bringing bad news, but not when she had been so close to it. It was a miracle that they had managed to save the two of them at all tonight. She began, eyes half on the road, ‘Matt . . . he took him to a vet . . . I . . .’

Frank tried hard to keep a level voice. ‘Dead?’

‘Alive. Barely.’

Frank let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. His dog was still alive. He had not died during the struggle or in the fire that followed. Thank God.

‘Take me there,’ he demanded.

Matt had warned her that Frank would say this. ‘Not after we’ve been to hospital,’ she told him decidedly. ‘I’m not letting you die on my watch.’

Frank could feel himself heating up. ‘I’m not fucking _dying_ ,’ he claimed through gritted teeth.

‘You almost bled out in that warehouse.’

‘Thought that was bad, huh? Trust me, ma’am, I’ve had worse,’ he said, and it was followed by an impatient little jerk of his body as if he had to force himself not to jump out of the car to find his pet. He looked out of the window to get his bearings, but he couldn’t recognise anything. ‘We headed to the vet yet?’

Claire ignored the latter and let out an incredulous little _huh_ under her breath. ‘You’ve had worse, huh? Have you _seen_ yourself, Frank? Have you even _looked_ into the mirror for the past few days? I mean, _really_ looked? You look like death, Frank. That’s what you look like.’ She shook her head decidedly. ‘I’m taking you to hospital to have those wounds looked at, Frank, and that’s that. Nurse’s orders.’

Despite Claire’s best intentions to stay calm in her delivery of these words, it still made Frank explode. He needed to see his dog. _Now_. Fuck going to hospital.

He banged a fist on the dashboard and yelled, ‘You think I care about my wounds? You think I give a shit about going to hospital and getting patched up by some – some amateur who doesn’t know what they’re doing?’ Here, he gave an illustrative wave at the bandages Claire had poorly applied because _someone_ (Frank) couldn’t sit still. Claire ignored it, as she did the rest of Frank’s tirade.

‘Either you turn this – this piece of shit round right now and drive me to my dog or _I’ll_ do it,’ Frank threatened, and it would probably have sounded intimidating if not for the fact that Frank really _was_ completely patched up and therefore likely unable to do much driving.

Claire kept the van in the same lane. Frank Castle was scary, but not that scary. ‘You’ve popped another stitch,’ was all she said after Frank had stopped swearing.

‘God dammit.’

The wound had started beating quite badly, and Frank had to press his hand on the wound on his arm to stanch the flow. He looked at Claire for help, but she only rewarded him with a look that said ‘I told you so’.

‘You see now why I’ve got to get you to hospital?’

Frank gave an acquiescing sigh. ‘Yeah. Just make sure I get back to my dog on time. You got something I can stitch this back up with?’

‘There’s a medical kit underneath your chair.’

This marked a more or less natural end to their conversation, and frankly Frank couldn’t see another reason to argue with Claire over taking him to the hospital while fished for the medical kit in the half-dark and took care of his wound himself. His need to see his dog was strong, but there was no arguing with the state of his body was in: everywhere he looked, he saw torn clothes and cuts. Some had indeed been stitched up or covered in bandages, but he still looked pretty awful.

The two unlikely companions sat in silence but for the occasional grunt Frank uttered when they hit a bump in the road. With his hands no longer keeping himself occupied, his mind was eventually let astray to last night’s journey. The single last thing he remembered was being attacked by his dog in the warehouse before the poor animal went still on top of him. Frank thought he had died then.

‘How bad was he? My dog?’

‘On a scale from one to ten? Nine.’

Frank closed his eyes as the image of his still, cold dog appeared before him. He tried to focus on the details of the mission, but he remembered only stinking fur and a fire that should have killed him. How did they survive all that? ‘How did you find us?’

‘What do you think? Matt spotted you from about a mile off.’

_Matt_. Frank had almost forgotten about him, if such a thing was possible.

‘You okay, Frank?’

‘Yeah.’

The thought of Daredevil having back his powers nearly made Frank feel some sort of comfort in the midst of so many dark, conflicting feelings. If Frank couldn’t be with his dog, he could at least sit here knowing that the other love of his life was all right. Maybe Matt was listening in on them now from afar, sending Frank prayers until his heart slowed down again.

He wondered if Matt had ever checked in on his heartbeat when he shouldn’t have. The thought almost made him feel strangely woozy.

He looked at Claire in the rear-view mirror. ‘He got back his powers then, huh?’

‘It’s how he found you two.’

‘What happened?’

Claire took a right turn past a large convenience store. ‘You mean with Matt’s powers or in general?’

‘All of it.’

‘It’s not an easy story,’ Claire warned Frank, as if that would in any way stop him from wanting to hear it. She waited a few seconds for the vigilante to protest, then reluctantly started her tale when no objection came.

Claire’s story began when we last saw her: she’d just gotten a phone call from a terrified, delusional Matt Murdock, and twenty minutes later she was knocking on the attorney’s door with her boyfriend in tow and a medical kit in her right hand. She immediately knew that something very bad had happened and that Matt needed help, fast.

Oddly, Frank only really picked up on the ‘boyfriend’ bit in this. (Probably because he was so busy thinking about _his_.) ‘You took your boyfriend along to meet Murdock?’

‘He’s very discreet. And he helped out.’

‘He’s a nurse too?’

‘Not really,’ Claire said. While she more or less trusted Frank by now, she still didn’t feel like explaining who Luke Cage was or how she had come to meet him. As such, she kept the details of how he helped Matt regain his powers deliberately vague and only said something non-descript about how Matt could suddenly tell that Luke was holding a tea towel. Thankfully, Frank didn’t bother asking any further questions.

‘First thing Matt did was use his powers to find you, actually,’ Claire explained as they stopped in front of a red light. ‘He wouldn’t say, but Matt looked absolutely terrified when he picked up your heartbeat. He said it felt as if it was slowing down.’

‘It was.’ Frank didn’t remember a lot of things from that night, but he did still remember how he had held his dog in his arms before the smoke and heat of the fire made him lose consciousness. The last thing he was consciously aware of was his own heartbeat and how weak it was. It was a miracle that Matt had even heard it. ‘What’d you do next?’

Claire told him, in detail. Once Matt had confirmed that Frank was still alive, they took Claire’s mom’s van and drove to the outskirts of the city. There, a fire was blazing so brightly and dangerously that Luke and Claire could see it from miles away. They knew immediately Frank must have had something to do with it.

‘It was as if the sky was on fire, Frank,’ Claire told him. They’d been driving for well over ten minutes, and the pain that Frank was in almost seemed to have disappeared thanks to Claire’s story. He was still bleeding, though, and he kept having to press a hand to his arm for fear of bleeding all over his passenger seat. ‘We couldn’t even get to the warehouse; the whole place had been curtained off by police. Honestly, I don’t think you’d be here if Luke – if Luke hadn’t gone in,’ she said, changing her wording mid-sentence when she remembered she hadn’t explained who Luke was. Luckily, Frank didn’t ask any questions: all he could think of was how the _hell_ he’d survived a fire of such destructive proportions.

The thought made Frank look as the wounds on his hands. Now that he saw them properly, in the half-light of the city, so far away from the place where he got them, they didn’t look so bad as the ones the previous dog had given him. And where _were_ the burn wounds that the fire ought to have branded him with? It was as if he had hardly been there at all.

Claire saw him thinking it. ‘I know. When we got there, I wasn’t so sure you’d survive. But when Luke went in and got you out? There wasn’t a burn wound on you. Just bite marks. And they were bad, Frank, but not as bad when I saw you last. These wounds . . . they almost look merciful.’

The trailing off of Claire’s sentence gave Frank’s mind enough room to come up with a preposterous notion. He let out a nervous breath. Out of all the creatures that were in the warehouse that night, most were dead. Only one of them could have dragged Frank away from the fire and saved him from certain death. ‘You’re saying that as if – as if my dog  . . . as if he saved me.’

That was exactly what Claire was suggesting. ‘I don’t know how, but I think when your dog attacked you, the medicine was already losing its strength. He must have woken up and dragged you to safety while you were out. It’s the only way I can explain how you’re sitting here.’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘Honestly, Frank, if you’d seen the state that warehouse was in . . . No-one could have survived that.’ Apart from Luke, she thought. Apart from him.

Frank said nothing. It was hard to imagine that anything good could have happened while he was out. His life stopped the very second his dog went so very, very still on top of him.

‘It’s a good sign, Frank,’ Claire added. They were getting closer to the hospital, and she had stopped driving quite so fast. ‘It means there’s still hope.’

Frank shuffled in his seat. He rubbed his nose a few times. He smelled the blood on his hands when he did. ‘When you found us, my dog–?’

‘He was unresponsive. But alive. Matt confirmed it. He asked me to take you to hospital while he and Luke took care of it.’

Frank wished he could feel a sense of relief at that, but it only made the distance between him and his dog feel bigger. If his dog had really pulled him away from the fire, Frank wanted to be there when he came to. ‘Where did Matt – where did he and your Luke take him?’

Claire ignored the little thrill she felt when she heard Luke’s name uttered by someone else. ‘They took him to the medical company that caused all of this in the first place. The one you took those counter-meds from? Matt figured they probably owed you a favour.’

Frank wasn’t so sure whether this reassured him either, but at least his dog would be surrounded by state-of-the-art equipment. If anything, they might be able to inject him with the counter-medicine they probably still had in production.

‘And the warehouse?’

‘Burned down,’ said Claire. ‘Along with everything and everyone in it. It’s over, Frank,’ Claire reminded him again. ‘It’s over.’

This kind of comment probably worked on Matt Murdock, but it didn’t on the Punisher. This wouldn’t be over until he saw his dog again and embraced him properly; not with bright red, dangerous eyes staring back at him, but with the black ones that used to greet Frank every morning before this shit kicked off. Now, the absence of his dog just felt like a bad scratch he couldn’t rub off.

‘Just get me to the hospital,’ he mumbled, eyes drooping closed, and it was the last thing he said before he dozed off into a world that was a lot less complicated.


	25. Chapter 25

Quick footsteps. Panting. He had run the entire way.

‘Please, ma’am, you’ve got to help me. My dog . . .’

He looked distraught. He _was_.

‘Try to keep calm, Sir. Deep breath? That’s it. Now, can you tell me what happened?’

‘He just – we were – he – he just went in my arms, and – _oh God_. He’s – he’s fucking dying, and it’s all my fault . . . it’s all my fucking fault . . .’

He was panicking now; a first. This guy never panicked.

‘Sir. I’m going to need you to take a seat over there and calm down.’

‘But . . .’

‘ _Sir._ I can’t do anything while you’re still here. Either sit down, or I’m going to have you removed. Your choice.’

Frank looked at the receptionist, then at the dog in his arms, so small and helpless. So still. So, so still.

He had no idea how it had happened. One moment they were playing in the park, having fun, the next he found his dog in the grass. Unconscious. Just like that. And he’d never even been to the vet’s before, but Frank figured his dog must have been pretty healthy if it could keep up with him on his mission like that. He looked happier and healthier than most dogs he met on his walks in the morning.

Then this happened.

‘Please,’ Frank went on in a softer voice that belied how truly terrified he was, ‘please just help him. I’ll do anything to get him back.’

‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary.’

The calm receptionist promised she would take care of it, and the dog was taken into a room that Frank wasn’t allowed to go in. The only person at this tiny emergency clinic, he paced up and down the hallway like a true man out of his depth.

He tried the coffee the receptionist offered him. It looked like water and smelled of it, too, and he left the cup untouched on the coffee table. He tried to read the magazines he found. They were about cats and hamsters and guinea pigs, so he gave up on reading them after only a few moments. The television screen in the corner showed a live stream of kittens.

Finally, boredom and anxiety forced Frank to check his phone. Battered on the edges, a thin crack down the middle of the screen, it hardly worked. Sometimes the damn thing wouldn’t even turn on, and the cracked screen only just allowed him to see that he’d gained three missed calls in the space of an hour.

They were all from Matt Murdock.

Frank ignored the feeling that the name of the screen gave him and reluctantly put his phone back into the pocket of his black hoodie. He already knew exactly what Murdock wanted to talk to him about. He wanted them to work _together_. Fight crime, together. Form a partnership or some shit. _Pah_. He didn’t even like the guy. Frank owed him much, that’s true, and Murdock wasn’t exactly terrible at what he did, but working together? As a team? What a fucking joke. The last thing Frank needed was some blind, righteous attorney to keep him from taking care of criminals his way.

Frank sat. His hood up to stop the receptionist from recognising him, old bruises still on his hands, he almost looked like a criminal; a _thug_. How ironic that his dog had decided to lose consciousness in the middle of such an innocent, ordinary activity as playing in the park. It was as if the universe was telling him that he could never quite leave this dark life even if he wanted to.

After another few minutes of not drinking any coffee and not reading any animal magazines, curiosity made Frank check his phone again. Matt had left him a voicemail, so he put his phone to his ear and listened. He tried to fake disinterest in his head, but the way his heart was beating when he heard Matt’s voice told a different story:

‘Frank. Hey,’ came Matt’s voice. ‘I’m just calling to let you know that my offer still stands. Call me if you’re – if you’re interested. You know where to find me.’ Silence, then: ‘At my apartment, I mean. You could – you could come meet me at my apartment. Any time. Or you could just call me back.’

The other two voicemail messages were more or less the same, with Matt sounding more and more nervous with each call. Not interested in these offers, Frank deleted them immediately. He’d rather die than be seen visiting Matt Murdock’s apartment in the middle of the night to strike some sort of childish deal. They were both in this business alone, and Frank was going to keep it that way. All he needed was his dog and a roof over his head.

He waited. Fifteen minutes had passed since he had come here. He still didn’t know what the hell was wrong with his dog. He treated him kindly. He fed the dog and played with him if he could. They had a good life together, and while they had only known each other for a short time they were already a tighter team than Daredevil and the Punisher would ever be. Or so he thought.

 

NOW

It was a quarter to two, and his wounds had stopped aching. A brand new t-shirt covered his upper body. His Punisher outfit had been draped carelessly over the back seat, where no one would be able to see it and find out who he was. He hadn’t felt like stitching the piece of clothing back up yet.

His hands were clean. Bandages covered his body underneath the ill-fitting clothes he’d borrowed. From this vantage, the many floors of Roger’s animal health company – the company that had unknowingly changed animals into former shells of themselves – were towering above them. A cat-shaped company logo looked reassuring in the dark, and yet Frank could not get himself to get out of the van he was in. He was experiencing that feeling of excitement, of having looked forward to something for hours or days or weeks; and yet when he got here the final hurdle felt like a damn mountain to climb. There was anticipation there, yes, but also terrible, terrible fear:

‘What if I still lose him?’ He thought out loud. He had unbuckled his seatbelt, but he had not moved an inch since getting here. ‘What if I get there, you know, and he still dies? I – I can’t go through that again, you know. I can’t.’ He took a deep, shaky breath. ‘This happened before, you know. I almost lost him once. We were playing in the park, and he just went. Just like that. It was only dehydration or some shit, but I thought I’d never see him again. What if – what if that still happens? It’s like – it’s like the universe is conspiring against us or something.’

‘I doubt that, Frank,’ Claire reassured him. The weight of Frank’s fear had fallen over them like a smothering cloak, but Claire wasn’t going to let that stop her from believing in the man she was sitting next to. This would all pass.

Frank’s face tightened into something sharp and dangerous. ‘How the hell do you know?’ It was as though he was sceptical of something good ever happening to him after all the things he’d been through.

But Claire already had her answer at the ready. ‘Because I just saw you get patched up in hospital and not even _flinch_ ,’ she said. Frank didn’t complain one bit, and they were out of the hospital before Claire and the other nurses could even remind him that he probably shouldn’t be doing any crime-fighting anytime soon. ‘You two are made of strong stuff, Frank. You’ll never have to lose him again,’ she added, and Frank almost looked like he believed it. _Almost_. They were only a short walk and an elevator ride away from seeing Frank’s dog again – for real this time, not surrounded by fire or heavy chemicals – and yet the walk could not have felt longer.

In Frank’s mind, anything could happen during his walk to the operating room. Including his dog still dying.

Claire saw Frank eyeing up the distance between them and the building’s revolving doors. With visiting hours long being over but for people like Frank, they were parked right in front of them.

‘What are you so afraid of?’ Claire said. ‘You _won_ , Frank. Maybe not by a landslide, but you still won. Just because you didn’t get out of it unscathed doesn’t mean you failed.’ She hesitated, then gave him a friendly nudge. ‘Go on. Go be with your dog.’ A beat. ‘Or are you just afraid of seeing Matt again? Cos I can’t help you with that.’

If Frank turned red, it was hard to see underneath his bruises. ‘Of course not.’ As if he wanted to show Claire as much, he then gave her a polite nod of the head, said goodbye, grabbed his coat and got out of the car looking nothing like the vigilante the headlines had painted him as.

Him, afraid of seeing Matt again. As _if_.

(Okay, maybe he was a little bit.)

But we regress. Indeed, the walk was a very long one, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that Frank counted every single step. It was the only way he could keep his nerves at bay, and the only way he could keep his legs moving forward. If he didn’t have something to distract him, he would fall there and then. He would never even get to the operating room at all. But he had to.

He counted.

Step one: I can do this.

Step two: I can’t do this, damn it.

Step thirteen: This is the most terrified I’ve ever fucking been.

Step forty; he’s inside the elevator now: we can do this, buddy. We – we’ve been through worse, you and me. We can do it. We can do it.

By now marginally more convinced that he was going to go through this, Frank stopped counting at the one-hundredth step. He walked through a long hallway and followed the signs Claire told him about – operating room 4.B; what a terrible place to end up in – and turned right when the metal signs told him to.

His knees went weak. To keep himself from falling, he reminded himself of the good times he’d shared with his dog as he pushed open a door and found himself in a large waiting room. With its reassuring pamphlets, coffee tables, lounge bars and drinks machine, it looked like every other waiting room there was. In fact, it was almost eerily reminiscent of the waiting room he found himself in when his dog had collapsed in a park and he was all alone but for the receptionist in the waiting room. Back then, his dog was at the other side of a door he was not authorised to open. He had no one.

But this time, he wasn’t so alone.

‘Frank.’

‘ _Red_.’

Matt was the first thing Frank saw when he opened the door to the waiting room. Immediately, a strange sense of warmth and calm fell over him. He almost felt like kissing Matt for providing it. If love was indeed an amalgamation of warmth and comfort, then perhaps he hadn’t done such a bad job falling for the attorney after all.

‘How – how is he?’ It was the first thing Frank asked him.

‘Good,’ Matt said. He looked good. Whatever role he had played in the saving of Frank’s dog, it had not harmed him. He looked as alert as he had before the loss of his powers. ‘He had to be operated on, but he’s fine. He’s fine, Frank.’

Frank let out a deep sigh. What a _relief_. Fucking hell, what a relief that his dog was still here. ‘When can I see him?

‘At three.’

Frank glanced at the round clock in the corner. It was a quarter to three in the morning, and it suddenly felt like this day had lasted a month. Even the kiss Frank had given Matt in their usual café felt a lot further away than it actually was. For a second, he even wondered if it had happened at all. (It had, though. It definitely had.)

‘They said they’d tell us when we can visit him,’ Matt added, in a way that suggested he wanted Frank to stop standing there like the anxious bag of potatoes he was now surely representing. ‘You can relax now.’

Frank let out a nervous laugh. ‘Doesn’t feel like I can. Not yet.’

‘Please, Frank,’ Matt persisted. His voice came out as a croak. He swallowed hard and started again with more force. ‘Please. Sit.’

Frank hesitated. He released an anxious breath, then sat next to Matt on the green sofa and gave the attorney a big start when he placed a nervous, tentative hand on his knee: a complete first. He couldn’t even look at Matt when he did, he was so absolutely terrified.

‘Thank you, Red.’ Frank gave Matt’s knee an almost chaste squeeze, then returned his hands to his own lap before Matt could turn red at the gesture. ‘I – I mean it, you know. I don’t know how to repay you.’

For a moment, Matt didn’t know what to say. He’d kind of gotten used to Frank’s touches by now – there’d been the trailing fingers down his scars; the kisses on his lips before they were torn apart by a loss of powers; the hands around his neck when they were so angry and confused –, and yet that hand on his knee was just a step better than the rest. It meant that Frank’s words were real and pure: they were _meant_. They were true.

‘I’m just glad you’re here, Frank. And your dog. I’ve —  when you went away, I . . .’ Matt trailed off, unable to verbalise quite how much he’d missed Frank in the mere hours they were apart. Every second he spent without his powers and without his lover, his crush, his partner, was one he never wanted to relive ever again. ‘I’m just glad you’re here,’ he reiterated, and it said everything. Matt’s words were true too.

‘So you got your powers back, huh?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What was that like?’

‘Getting them back or losing them?’

‘Losing them.’

Losing his powers had felt like losing his grip on everything Matt held dear. He’d found himself in a bottomless pit he could not clamber out of. Even the hands Frank had put on him could not help him to find just an ounce of hope at the end of a long, terrifying tunnel. For a couple of terrible hours, it was as if he was truly blind.

‘I wouldn’t even wish it on my worst enemies, Frank. That’s how bad it was.’

‘Still. It can’t be easy, hearing and feeling every damn thing around us. I bet it drives you crazy sometimes, Red.’

Matt shrugged. Now that he’d found out how different he was without his powers, he couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t appreciate them. ‘I can tune certain sounds out if I want to. It makes it easier.’ The closeness of Frank’s body made him risk a suggestive comment. ‘But I never tune out yours.’

Frank figured Matt must have heard the jump his heart made. He wondered if it meant he’d get away with placing his hand on Matt’s knee again. It felt satisfyingly solid and real when he did.

‘What’s my heart sound like then?’

Matt wasn’t sure if a veterinary clinic in Hell’s Kitchen’s most prestigious animal health company was the right place for this sort of conversation. Then again, they _had_ rubbed up against each other’s bodies a few floors up. ‘I . . . Frank, I don’t think this is the right time.’

‘It never is with us, Red. Please,’ Frank added, and there was that strange warmth in the pit of his stomach again. It made him rub his thumb on Matt’s knee in a way that was oddly intimate and yet perfectly _them_. ‘Tell me what I sound like to you. Even if it’s just crap, you know. Just — just tell me.’

So this was it. This was what their mission had led up to. The evil criminals were no longer around to hurt people, and Frank’s dog was saved. They were finally, finally able to do whatever they wanted. Including what felt a _lot_ like flirting.

Matt told Frank what he sounded like to him. ‘Your heart is steady, Frank. It’s always calm, even when you’re scared or in danger. Always. But then — then you’re with me, and it just changes. Your heartbeat becomes a singsong of fast rhythms and melodies. And sometimes, Frank — sometimes I think your heart sounds like a rain on a metal roof, and sometimes . . . sometimes I think it sounds a lot like mine.’ He thought back to the evening he picked up Frank’s heartbeat in the middle of an intimate moment. He had never heard it tick away so quickly before, like Frank’s body thought it had to pump and pump blood to keep up with what his hands were doing. It’d sounded amazing. ‘I’m not sure if I’ve ever had that with anyone.’

Matt had said all of this very quickly, and he had to take a deep breath when he was finished. These comments were worlds removed from when Frank admitted he liked Matt a couple of nights ago, when Matt was too scared, too reluctant to admit the same. He laughed it off with some careful, tender touches of scars, and that was that. Only the kisses they shared after came close to admissions of truth and feelings. But now that Matt had admitted that his heart often beat in the same rhythm as Frank’s, what could they do but kiss right there?

It was quite beautiful. They shared a short, chaste kiss, looked at each other in a manner almost too dreamy for two people who’d just finished a very dangerous mission, then kissed again. Predictably, Frank made Matt fish for it: he purposefully leaned back an inch, and Matt had to lean forward to kiss Frank on the mouth properly.

It felt wonderful.

Sparks flew. Heat ran up the bruised arms the men used to pull each other close. Previous hardships and arguments about missions, powers and weapons were completely forgotten in the moment, and they would probably have kissed for the rest of the evening if a female vet hadn’t appeared next to their sofa a minute or two later. They were occupied that even Matt couldn’t have seen her coming.

‘Mr. Castle?’ the vet said after she’d demonstratively cleared her throat and broken up the kiss with her calming voice, ‘You may see your dog now. You too, if you wish, Mr. Murdock. You brought him here, after all.’

Frank shot Matt a nervous look at the mention of his dog. The blush on his face neatly complimented his red and blue bruises elsewhere, and he almost looked like an ordinary guy rather than the dangerous man many saw him as. ‘W-would you mind? Coming with me, I mean.’

Frank almost sounded nervous. To an outsider who was only familiar with the Punisher this might have appeared out of character, but not to Matt. To Matt – who couldn’t see Frank’s hard exterior anyway –, the nervous, charming nuances in Frank’s character didn’t come as a surprise anymore. This was exactly the guy he’d come to like and love.

‘I’ll be with you every step of the way, Frank.’ And with that, they let the vet lead the way.

The second room the two men entered a minute later was neither an operating room nor a reception area like the one they’d just been in: it had all the shiny veterinarian paraphernalia one might expect, but it was so lavishly decorated with colourful pictures of happy animals and their owners that Frank felt instantly relieved when he saw his dog on the operating table.

Still half-drowsy from the long procedure, the dog gave a short bark when his cute black eyes recognised the sound of Frank’s steps. He was too tired to leap off the table and allow himself to be embraced by his owner, but he was very much alive. Even his fur had that familiar shine to it again. This was Frank’s dog, every soft inch of it. There would be no more fighting.

Frank hesitated for a second, then placed a careful hand on the dog’s head. His pet responded by wagging its tail and closing its eyes in sleepy but pleased familiarity. It was an incredible feeling, and even better to look at: carefully washed, the dog’s fur no longer looked dirty and matted. He smelled clean. Even the wounds he had gained over the course of this tragedy were nowhere to be seen as if magic had scrubbed them off.

Frank looked at the vet, who was watching the scene with much interest. ‘How did you —?’

‘Simple: the counter-medicine. We still had a little bit of it left,’ the vet explained when Frank gave a confused little frown. She, too, had started petting the dog’s fur. He had dozed off again in a harmless, peaceful sleep. ‘It took us a while, but twenty minutes after Mr. Murdock had brought him here, your dog became positively sensitive to sounds and touch even though we were certain he wouldn’t make it through the night. With Mr. Murdock’s permission, we administered the medicine and ran a few tests, and suddenly it was as if nothing had happened. All the dog’s vitals looked normal again, and even his wounds had suddenly healed.’ She let out a sigh of relief. ‘It’s an absolute miracle, it is. We weren’t even sure if the counter-medicine would work.’

Matt interjected, ‘But he’s back to normal? Frank’s dog?’

‘Absolutely. There isn’t a trace of the old medicine left in him.’ The vet looked at Frank. She had a kind, trustworthy aura about her that Matt liked. There wasn’t a hint of a lie about the things she was saying. ‘Usually we keep animals here overnight, but to be honest I don’t think it’s at all necessary this time. If you want, you can take him back home immediately. You’ll have to carry him, though,’ she laughed as she rubbed a hand across the sleeping dog’s fur. ‘I don’t think he’ll be doing much over the next few hours, bless him.’

Matt nodded at what the vet was saying. ‘Claire – she’s a friend –; she’ll probably take the dog home if we ask her nicely,’ he said. ‘I can come too, if you want,’ he told Frank very innocently, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t mid-sentence. It occurred to him then that Frank would likely want to spend some time alone with his dog instead tonight.  

‘I’d like that, Red.’

Or not.

Matt thought he’d misheard. ‘What – what did you say, Frank?’

Frank ran his hand along the back of his head. He was in desperate need of a visit to his local barbershop, but he wasn’t too sure if Matt liked him with short hair or not. ‘I mean, I’d like you to come home with me. Don’t get any ideas, though, Red,’ he added in a half-assed attempt to sound like his intimidating self, ‘I just don’t wanna walk my dog alone tomorrow. That’s all.’

Matt suddenly had that flustered look about him, and the poor vet was in the middle of it. ‘Tomorrow’ not only meant that they would be spending more time together; it suggested there might be a possibility of them actually _waking up_ together. As in, in the same bed. After they’d fucked. ‘ _Tomorrow_ , Frank?’

Frank scrunched his nose. ‘You know, next morning. Today. It’s not as if we’re gonna do much sleeping anyway.’ (Here, the vet uttered a loud _ahem_ , and Frank suddenly realised quite how suggestive his words had sounded. Matt responded by turning a very deep shade of red at the bluntness of it all.) ‘I mean, you know, because – because it’s already _tomorrow_ , and — and —’

Frank gave a frustrated sigh when his words wouldn’t come out properly. He was starting to sound like a shy school boy. ‘Oh Christ, Matt, you know what I fucking mean.’

Blushing too, Matt grinned quietly to himself as Frank deliberately focussed all his attention on his dog. His face was glowing – no doubt from knowing what he’d turned the Punisher into. After all these years, all these missions, all these hardships and pain, Matt’s biggest superpower of all might just have been rendering Frank Castle a big, blustering, adrenaline-filled mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically the point where I throw most of the angst out of the window.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a few chapters left now.

They slept like babies that night: Matt on the sofa, Frank lying next to him. Blankets covered his blissfully tortured body while Matt needed only the warm comforts of a soft pillow to get him through the night. The dog was in the middle of it, sleeping peacefully with Frank’s bandaged hand on its fur. The men hadn’t intended to fall asleep quite so closely: it’s just how their tiredness from the past few days had made it happen.

Frank and Matt hadn’t (yet) slept together in the proverbial sense. They both would have liked to – if only to make sure a second time was a given –, but when they woke up they still did so with just as titillating memories of a less intimate night. For once, they’d had chat that wasn’t fuelled by hate or terrible desperation: they had a chat because they wanted to. They spoke of dates and exes and pets that Frank thought Matt might enjoy having (a Chihuahua), and again it was as if they were already boyfriends. They weren’t, but they could have been.

Whatever they’d been through the past few days, it had all disappeared the moment Frank laid eyes on his dog again last night. Gone were the fights, the arguments, the bruises, and the awkward, impassable border between lovers and enemies. What remained now, was only the odd affection Frank felt for Matt Murdock just south of his belly button when he saw his lover wake up. Hate would achieve nothing from now on. There would be no more hiding behind sarcastic fronts and unmeant kisses.

From today, the Punisher and Daredevil were no more. They were Frank and Matt now: two lovers; two friends. They made one unlikely, wonderfully real couple.

‘Morning, sunshine,’ Frank said the moment Matt’s body stirred into life. He offered Matt a cup of coffee with his uninjured hand, and Matt took it once he’d wiped the sleep from his eyes and gotten his bearings.

His other senses made him remember where he was pretty quickly. Judging by the soft wool texture underneath his hand, he was still on Frank’s sofa. Frank’s dog was lying in his lap, and a quick scan of his memories confirmed that he and Frank had not slept together. (He did remember a lot of kissing, though.) Furthermore, the scent of coffee was in the air. It was mixed up with the heavy smell of dog fur. A window was open. Matt thought he could hear the sounds of the city on top of the noise of Frank’s struggling espresso machine. Like the rest of the apartment, it was old and in need of replacement. Even the sofa creaked when he sat up. But there were no signs of criminals, and he was wonderfully safe.

While other visitors would have thought the house bland and dreary, Matt thought it had character. Other people didn’t appreciate the soft carpet beneath their naked feet or the scent of coffee beans in the air, but Matt did. He would every single time he came here. 

‘What time is it?’ a drowsy Matt asked Frank after he’d taken a big sip of the coffee. Bitter but not harsh, the almost fruity liquid warmed him up to the core. (A bit like Frank himself, Matt thought privately.) The second and third sips tasted just as good. This was definitely a place he could picture himself waking up in more often if the coffee was going to be this good. ‘This coffee is amazing, by the way.’

‘Thanks, Red,’ Frank said. The colour that rose up his neck did not go unnoticed. ‘And it’s seven. You woke up just in time for our walk.’

‘Our’ walk. Matt liked the sound of that, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what it entailed. Frank was a hard person to picture doing something quite as ordinary as walking his dog at seven o’clock in the morning. (Besides, his dog was _kidnapped_ the last time he did it. It must have been borderline traumatic, which was probably the reason Frank had asked Matt along in the first place)

Matt carefully took his time to consider the art of walking dogs while he drank his coffee, then put down the cup when he was finished. It really _was_ amazing coffee. It was the perfect, magical blend of tangy fruit and subtle bitterness. ‘You got some clothes I could borrow, Frank? I feel like I’ve been in this shirt for a week.’

‘You look it.’

This sarcastic punch made Matt smile. So some things hadn’t changed overnight after all. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome, Red. Anyway, I think I’ve still got the shirt I borrowed from you lying around somewhere.’ (The shirt I loaned him after he was attacked the first time, Matt thought. He walked out on me then.) ‘Give me a second. I even washed it, you know.’

Frank disappeared into his tiny bedroom to grab the shirt he’d borrowed, and it gave Matt another peaceful moment to reflect. He just _couldn’t_ believe that he was sitting right here, in Frank’s living room, with the dog they’d fought so hard for lying in his lap. If anyone had told him this would happen a week or even a day ago, he would not have believed them. From the off, this case had its flaws and arguments, fights, terrible injuries, and myriad reasons to stop seeing each other altogether, and yet here they were, beautifully together in this wonderful but flawed space. What a perfect conclusion of an otherwise imperfect mission.

He hoped to God they’d never have to go through something like it ever again, though. It was a miracle they were even sitting here at all.

‘Frank,’ Matt began when Frank returned from his bedroom two minutes later, white shirt in hand, ‘do you think we’ll ever take on a mission like this again?’

‘Wouldn’t count on it, Red,’ Frank huffed when he gave Matt his shirt back, ‘this thing died when that bastard in the warehouse did. The thugs in this city will think twice before they mess with the animals of Hell’s Kitchen again.’

Matt was about to ask Frank what ‘bastard’ he was talking about, but then the coffee machine in the kitchen gave a very demonstrative sputter and made him lose his train of thought. He thought he could smell something burning. ‘How long have you had that thing? The coffeemaker, I mean.’

Frank gave the machine a quick glance, then shrugged. ‘Few years. It was part of the furniture when I got here. Been scraping by ever since so I never got the chance to replace it.’

The machine was beginning to sound like a gurgling ogre, if ogres were real and capable of gurgling. ‘I think it’s dying, Frank.’

Frank would not let anyone insult his precious possession like that, Matt Murdock or not. It’s not like his powers suddenly allowed him to read the thoughts of electrical appliances, anyway. He gave a loud _harrumph_ , ‘Weren’t you going to get dressed, Red?’

Matt blushed. ‘Right. Sorry. I’ll – _er_.’ He hesitated. He wasn’t sure if they were in ‘getting dressed in front of each other’ territory yet. (Which was a bit odd given that Frank _had_ already seen Matt half-naked two times, and enjoyed it very much.)

Frank saw Matt thinking it. ‘First door on your left,’ he said, referring to the bathroom Matt had not yet been to during one of his earlier visits. He hesitated as if there was something on his mind in regards to the bathroom, but another unworldly sound from the coffee machine made him forget it entirely. ‘There’s some fresh towels in the washing machine if you want to take a shower or something. Just don’t spend too much time in there.’

Matt saw this as his cue to leave while Frank went back into the kitchen to make sure there would be no exploding coffee machines today. (Serving impeccable coffee was all part of his plan to get Matt into his bed later, you see.) Five seconds later Matt found the bathroom no problem, and he started getting undressed once he’d locked the door with some difficulty and located what were indeed fresh towels.

Despite the relatively small space, the attorney felt strangely comfortable within the bathroom’s four walls, more so than usual. Usually, visits to strangers’ houses were expeditions filled with embarrassment and disappointment: generally, he had to go through an awful lot of trouble to make sure his part-time lovers wouldn’t suspect he had ‘special’ ‘powers’. (Note: this all started when Matt ended up sleeping with of his handsome college classmates, who had found it very suspicious that Matt managed to find the fridge with much ease the next morning despite being quite blind in a house he had never been in. Matt laughed it off by saying that he could smell the fridge from a mile off; this predictably led to his one-night stand showing him the door and never once sharing his coursework with him ever again.)

Often, Matt just opted for the usually effective knocking over of a shampoo bottle. Sometimes he’d pretend not to know where he was going and end up in a cupboard rather than the intended bedroom. (The latter had often led to quite . . . awkward situations.) It was deceptive, Matt knew that, but it stopped his potential partners from asking awkward questions and it made for rather good fucks when he dropped the act in bed at night.

But with Frank, he didn’t have to act. With him, Matt could roam freely, with his head held high. Today, his other senses could finally take in every single detail so that he might still see the imperfect but perfectly cosy home Frank had built for himself.

Matt’s powers didn’t gloss over the flaws. He knew all too well that this house wasn’t an ideal place for living in and that the very bathroom he was in was falling apart. He didn’t need sight to notice the stains or the silverfish that scampered along the blue tiles. His sense of smell and touch told him all he needed to know, including the fact that the brand new plastic packet his hand brushed against was filled with condoms. It was half-empty. Matt had not been the first to come here, and he probably wouldn’t be the last. Frank had had lovers.

This was a house that had suffered as much as Frank had, but then again, had Matt’s not been through the same? They didn’t need lush decorations to feel at home: all they needed was each other, and, indeed, a healthy dog to finish it all off. Everything else was just background noise for the sighted and non-lovers.

Finally, Matt got into the shower. The meagre stream, which Matt found it hard to adjust, alternated between short, sputtering bursts of hot and cold. It wasn’t at all comfortable, so Matt imagined a different morning when Frank would be here with him, warming him up from his head to his toes with just a single touch.

Matt got as far as picturing Frank’s strong arms wrapped around his soaped-up body until heat won over the cold and he had to press his lips together to muffle the sound his own fingers elicited from himself. It was a short, sinful moment of reverie he knew didn’t belong in someone else’s house, and Matt guiltily turned off the shower before he could do more. It didn’t help that the shower gel he’d used smelled exactly of Frank’s: sensual myrrh musk fused with the exotic aroma of peach juice and apricots. It was fucking exhilarating.

He left the shower quickly. The towels smelled too strongly of washing powder, but they were comfortable and soft to the touch. He carefully rubbed his body dry in the hopes he wouldn’t re-open any small wounds he didn’t know were there, then started getting dressed.

He managed to get his boxers and trousers back on before he heard a very loud _bang_.

Then another, as loud as gunfire.

Matt responded immediately. He quickly put on his shirt and leapt towards the door, pushing shampoo bottles and body lotions to the floor in his path. But when he got there, the door was locked.

‘Frank?’

Matt tried turning the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

He tried again. Nothing. He was trapped. Another loud _bang_ followed as though had someone fired a gun. Frank’s.

‘Frank? What’s going on?’

Frank didn’t respond. The noise behind the bathroom door was getting worse, and for some reason Matt could not place it. Frank was in trouble!

‘ _FRANK_!’

All was quiet. He had no choice.

He had to knock the door in.

Matt stepped back, then threw his aching body against the door. The poor thing was already so old and battered that it fell flat on the floor in one quick, comical motion, and for a moment Matt detected nothing else but the bitter smell of coffee beans. Everything else was silent.

Suddenly the house didn’t seem so peaceful anymore. Frank had been kidnapped. This was not yet over, and it never would be. This would go on and on and on until—

Then came a heartbeat.

‘What the hell, Red.’ This annoyed huff was uttered by none other than Frank Castle, who was still very much alive and not a bit in trouble. His glare could have burned Matt’s skin.

Matt coloured. He could now see, in his own way, that Frank had just made another pot of coffee. The loud bangs had come from the espresso machine.

‘You’re – I thought . . . I heard a noise, and – and then the door didn’t open, and . . .’ Matt momentarily got lost in a long, incoherent ramble to himself. He was so used to constantly worrying about Frank’s wellbeing that he had not considered that this apartment could very well be the one place where they were both quite safe. His throat closed before he could say what he knew he ought to say next. ‘I . . . I just thought someone had come in,’ he added in a low mumble.

‘You were wrong, Red.’

Frank started towards the door, which now vacated a rather large area on the carpet. He tried lifting it up, but the thing wouldn’t budge. ‘How the hell am I ever going to pay for this, Red?’

For once, Matt couldn’t tell if Frank was being angry or sarcastic, and it unveiled a million irrational fears in him. What if they were about to have yet another argument? What if they were always going to find something to get angry about, no matter what? What if something, somehow, would always stop them from being together as a properly functioning couple and not two messy excuses of washed-up vigilantes?

Matt was about to open his mouth to apologise and beg forgiveness, but Frank had already gotten up and dusted off his hands on his pants. Matt could not possibly have detected how utterly calm he looked. ‘Oh, fuck it, door was a piece of shit anyway,’ Frank shrugged, without having been asked for his opinion. He must have seen the conflict on Matt’s face. ‘Suppose it doesn’t really matter that much.’

Matt let out the breath he was holding. ‘You’re not angry?’

‘Why would I be, Red?’

‘Because we always —’ Matt was about to say ‘because we always find something to argue about, Frank,’ then stopped mid-sentence when he realised what a load of crap that was. They were way past their disagreements over dogs, powers, criminals and weapons now, or rather they should have been. Today was real life; a blank page they could start in every single way they liked. Just because they’d had their disagreements about how to take on a bunch of criminals in a warehouse didn’t mean they were going to behave the exact same way if they ever made it past their first kiss today. If anything, those fights ought to have been perfect lessons for the future. Whatever they were going to do next, it would have to be in the complete faith that they didn’t have to be afraid of what followed.

‘I’m just sorry, Frank.’ Matt sighed and rubbed the back of his head. Now that he thought about it, maybe the loss of his powers had scarred him in more ways than one. ‘I guess losing my powers hit me harder than I thought. I still can’t believe I just let someone enter my house like that.’

Frank’s face softened in understanding. ‘It could’ve happened to anyone, Red. Just because you’re who you are, doesn’t mean danger is around every corner, you know. I used to think that too, but – but it just slowed me down. It’s no way of living.’

‘I guess need to start getting used to danger not being there everywhere I go, huh?’

Frank was silent while he poured yet more coffee into a pristine white cup: one of the few things in his house that looked brand new. He hesitated as if he wasn’t quite sure about this particular blend, then handed Matt the cup. It smelled a lot less bitter than the first. ‘That sounds a lot like you’re thinking about taking a break, Red.’

Matt shrugged noncommittally before taking a first sip. It _was_ less bitter: it almost had a chocolate-like flavour to it. ‘Maybe.’ Then he took another sip and considered it seriously. He’d be lying if he said the past few days hadn’t broken him. ‘Maybe I am. It _would_ be nice not to have to look over my shoulder for a couple of days, I guess. You know, considering,’ he added with a casual wave in the direction of the fallen door.

Frank put on his most flirtatious voice. ‘I might know something for that.’

‘Really?’

Matt sucked in a breath when he suddenly felt Frank’s cold, broken hands on his naked sides. In his hurry to protect Frank from a non-existent enemy, he had completely forgotten to button up his shirt. Frank found it quite convenient: his hands slipped onto the small of Matt’s back _just — like — that_ before slowly, slowly finding their way into Matt’s very, very loose pants.

‘Finish your coffee, Red.’


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second-to-last chapter. Enjoy.

Back to simpler times. Frank played Matt’s message again. It sounded the exact same every time, and yet Matt’s tone seemed to change with each play: ‘Frank. Hey. I’m just calling to let you know that my offer still stands. Call me if you’re – if you’re interested. You know where to find me.’ There was that familiar silence again. Frank had already heard it a dozen times. ‘At my apartment, I mean. You could – you could come meet me at my apartment. Any time. Or you could just call me back.’

Frank was still clutching his phone when he stared out of his dirty kitchen window. He turned it over a few times in his palm, distracted, then cursed when he let it slip out of its flimsy protective cover. The phone fell on his kitchen floor with a loud, heart-breaking _pop_. Unfortunately for him, another meandering crack had appeared all over the screen when he picked it back up again. Tiny parts of the screen had even disappeared to show the electronic skeleton behind it. It wasn’t a good look.

He looked at the old phone, then at his dog. It had fallen asleep in front of his food bowls. Thank God.

The reason for his dog’s sudden collapse in the park had been a simple, preventable case of dehydration, but that didn’t make it hurt less. While his dog was now safely back underneath his roof, it suddenly felt everything Frank loved was just a touch away from falling apart. Even his damn phone wasn’t that far removed from ending up in a sad heap on the floor.

The phone was still in his hands. Something about Murdock’s message was tempting – really, _really_ tempting –, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. It must have been the loneliness that Frank felt when his dog was nearly taken away from him that night. He never wanted to feel anything like it ever again, but then again he was not a clairvoyant. He could not possibly have predicted what would happen in the many months that were to come.

Something made him change his mind. He unlocked his screen – this took a few tries because a deep crack had been superimposed in front of the number nine he needed to press – then flicked a finger through his missed calls. He selected the one message he hadn’t yet listened to, and put his phone to his ear.

‘Hey, Frank. It’s me again. Matt. I know we’ve had our, er, differences,’ – here, Matt stopped to take a deep breath – ‘but I really think we’d make a good team. Please come over?’

The silly fucker. The desperation just _oozed_ off of him in that call, even more so than the others. Was Murdock really that friendless and lonely that he had to come to someone like Frank Castle for help?

Still the phone, apt to shatter, remained in Frank’s hand. Truth be told, there _was_ something quite comforting about having someone to fall back on. Having his dog here with him was a comfort, but pets didn’t make for very good conversation partners and he’d probably have to think twice about taking the dog with him on missions from now on. Matt Murdock would be a much better companion in that regard — even if he _would_ probably go on and on about what he fucking thought of Frank and his methods.

Oh well, Frank could still strangle the damn bastard if he started talking his righteous bullshit again. Maybe Murdock liked that sort of thing.

Ten minutes later, Frank’s mind was made up. He was going to take Murdock up on his offer, and they were going to pretend to be the very best of friends until one of them did something the other didn’t approve of and this shit blew up in their faces. Matt would likely only last a week with him, but it’d be nice to have tried. At least then the voicemails would stop flooding in.

(Frank didn’t want them to stop.)

Matt’s apartment wasn’t that hard to find for two reasons. One, Matt had made the directions abundantly clear in his third message, and two, it was the only house in Hell’s Kitchen that came close to surpassing Frank’s in its piteousness. No wonder Matt was lonely. Anyone would be in these dark, empty streets that reeked of nothing but shit and desperation. This was not a home; it was a damn cry for help.

Only moments after arriving, Frank knocked. There was no doorbell. Very little happened to make him believe there was actually someone at home, and Frank was slowly starting to believe this was, in fact, a very elaborate plot to piss him off. Even the neighbouring apartments showed no signs of life, but he was too lazy to go and check.

Then the door opened.

‘Frank. Come in.’

Predictably, Matt knew who was standing outside his door without so much needing to hear them talk. Ordinarily this would have made Frank utter a sentence that sounded much like ‘I still don’t know how the hell you do that’ or something else that would make the blind attorney feel terribly smug about his powers, but the poor Punisher was too stumped by the image in front of him to go much farther than opening his mouth.

Murdock looked _good_. Hell, Frank would even go so far as to say that he looked handsome. Attractive. He was wearing a dark grey t-shirt that showed off the gentle curve of his muscles, and a dark stain on his chest suggested that he’d been working out. (Frank sneaked a quick peek past Matt’s sweaty form and saw a collection of quite lethal weapons on the living room table. So he’d been training. Convenient.) There was a pristine white towel in Matt’s hands, and he was using it to clean the sweat off his gratuitously exposed arms. When he used it on the back of his head next, it made his hair look all ‘recently had sex’ in all its glorious messiness.

_Fuck_.

The corners of Matt’s mouth twitched. ‘You still there, Frank?’

As if it needed asking. Bastard.

Frank had grown considerably redder over the course of the last few seconds, and he blamed it on the simple fact he had not had sex for several months. (Read: _good_ sex.) That would make the most uninteresting of people suddenly look attractive.

To hide the fact, Frank tried to sound vaguely dominant and noncommittal. ‘I got your calls.’ He scoffed demonstratively. ‘All six of them. You’re that desperate for me, huh?’

Matt took this as a sign that Frank was going to come in. He slowly retreated back into his apartment, and Frank followed him like a puppet. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Frank. You’re not the only one I’ve called.’

Frank was less versed in the matters of the Lie, believe it or not, so he did not catch the untruthfulness in this. He closed the door behind him. He could not imagine there were many individuals in Hell’s Kitchen who wanted to work with Daredevil. Those that did were probably already tied up with the fucking Avengers anyway. ‘They must have been fucking thrilled with that,’ Frank jeered.

‘Are you interested or not?’

Frank crossed his arms. ‘Depends on what you want, Red. It’s just Daredevil I’m interested in, not _you_ ,’ he claimed with great satisfaction. ‘What’d you got for me?’

Matt did not seem offended by Frank’s preference for his superhero alter-ego; unaffected, he still went into his cluttered kitchen to pour himself a drink. (Note: he did not offer Frank anything, which had more to do with his severe lack of drinks in his fridge rather than impoliteness.) ‘I’m trying to track down an internet executive who I believe has ties to the criminal world,’ he explained as he opened his fridge. It sounded rather empty, and it was. The only thing he had at his disposal was a bottle of wine that was nearly empty. ‘At the moment it’s just a hunch, so I need proof. Lots of proof. The computers that have the files I need are inaccessible for me, so I need your eyes to make sure that I’m right about this guy.’

Frank shrugged as he watched Matt pour a meagre layer of wine into his glass. He gave the bottle a shake as if that would make it produce more liquid, then threw it into his trash bin looking rather disappointed. It was almost cute, if Matt Murdock were capable of radiating such a thing. Frank pointed out, ‘Lots of people have eyes. Why not ask some, I don’t know, hacker? They probably know more about this than I do, Red.’

Matt laughed. ‘You sure know how to sell yourself, Frank. You can do better than that.’

This was a challenge that Frank fell for hook, line and sinker. ‘Okay. Let’s say I help you,’ Frank sighed, arms akimbo. Despite his reservations about this partnership, he had still been listening to Matt with a quasi-interested look on his face: one of the few things Matt’s powers couldn’t tell. ‘What’s in it for me?’

‘If we’re lucky, you can tell me my instincts about this case were wrong. If not, you can help me take a — a terrible, terrible man down.’

‘You mean handing him over to the police.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What’s he done?’

Matt swallowed. ‘I’m not sure yet.’

‘You’re not sure, or you just don’t want to tell me so I won’t kill him?’

Matt ignored the question. ‘Will you help me or not?’ His tone was clipped: he was desperate. Or just worried Frank really would kill the person he was after.

The Punisher tried to consider everything he’d heard. He looked away from Murdock and sorted the information in his head: Matt Murdock. An internet executive. Criminals. Proof. Computers. It certainly sounded like a more interesting mission than any Frank had been on lately. And it was with Matt Murdock, the guy Frank had once tied up on a rooftop and been tempted to leave there to die. But he hadn’t. _Why_?

He looked at Matt again. An odd sensation took place in his belly when he saw Matt put the glass of wine to his lips, and it was making it hard to concentrate. There was suddenly something very enticing about how red hot that mouth was.

Frank knew he should have said ‘no’, but curiosity made him say the one thing that changed everything.

‘Why don’t you get me a drink first, Red?’  


NOW

For once, the world was not conspiring against them. There were many sounds but no noises. The park’s hidden corners no longer reminded its visitors of dark paths from the past. The morning sun was shining, and two dozen people had come out to walk their dogs with smiles on their faces. Their eyes sparkled with the intimate knowledge that they’d been through enough to feel alive. Grass and mud stained the shoes they were wearing, but none of it mattered. This was the city at its finest, with the sun shining down on its flat rooftops and vibrant tree tops that lodged only the most fine-voiced of birds. Compared to the previous days, it was paradise. But compared to what Frank had done to Matt in his living room? Well.

‘So you do this every morning?’ Matt noted after he’d swerved past a small group of excitable puppies on the footpath. His cane, which he’d fished out of his favourite dumpster so that he would not attract any unwanted attention, had almost hit one of the whippets in the eye. He sometimes underestimated how hard it was to go back to being the average blind man so many saw him as, especially after this morning. His earlier actions in Frank’s house could have fooled anyone.

‘I try to,’ Frank nodded. Not bound by a leash, his dog was trotting along a few paces ahead of them. Despite recent events, it looked perfectly in its element; like Frank that morning, it had a certain happy glow about it that radiated from its entire body. This was a dog who was finally free to do whatever it wanted. It even started up an animated conversation about his favourite dog food with a young golden retriever, but to humans it only sounded like barks and the soft thumping of a tail.

(Meanwhile, Matt personally believed he was already starting to understand quite a number of dog barks: the barks for ‘food’ or a ‘walk’, for example, and even the bark that was asking for a good hug. He could get used to this whole pet malarkey yet.)

‘I don’t – I didn’t always have time for it, you know,’ Frank went on. ‘To do it properly. Some bastard always managed to get in the way of it. But not anymore. I’ll never lose sight of one of my dogs ever again,’ he proclaimed proudly.

But Matt had only heard the plural in that statement. ‘ _Dogs?_ ’

Frank shrugged vaguely and dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. The weather was mild enough to allow him to wear his favourite leather jacket that he thought made him look sexy. Not that it mattered, anyway. He explained, ‘You know, if I ever decide to get another one. There’re a few I have my eyes on.’

A smile played on Matt’s lips. He wondered what Claire would say if she saw the two of them like this. The only thing that was stopping them from looking like a proper couple was some romantic hand-holding, but Frank didn’t feel like the hand-holding type. Possibly. ‘I think you’re already going to have your hands pretty full with just _me_ moving in, let alone when you adopt another dog.’

This subtle double entendre did not go over Frank’s head, and he decided to increase his pace and take a shortcut past a fountain so that they would get home a bit earlier. (It would probably have been even quicker to stalk through the grass, but Frank wasn’t sure if Matt’s cane would get stuck in the ground or not.) ‘I’ll manage,’ he said after Matt had fallen back into step with him.

Matt grinned. ‘I never said you wouldn’t.’

‘ _Hm._ I suppose we could always move into your apartment if things become cramped,’ Frank offered. ‘Especially if you’re gonna keep tearing the damn place apart.’

Matt’s cheeks flushed a guilty red when he remembered the feeling of Frank’s living room wall against his body; how cold it had felt against his skin and how uncomfortable the draft of the open window had been. And yet how perfect it all fitted together: hot and cold, comfort and discomfort, all in the same place. ‘Your place’s fine,’ he said.

Frank gave an agreeing ‘ _mm_ ’. He, too, thought back to that morning: the waking up, the coffee, the broken door, and then Matt’s shirt that had _so_ conveniently fallen open in front of him:

_‘That sounds a lot like you’re thinking about taking a break from being Daredevil, Red,’ Frank had said, an hour previously, after Matt had knocked his bathroom door in. Matt had just taken a shower at Frank’s apartment and stepped out of it thinking Frank had been kidnapped._

_‘Maybe I am,’ Matt had replied with a sheepish shrug. His open shirt moved_ just _so, and it showed off his scarred stomach. It looked even better than Frank remembered. ‘It_ would _be nice not to have to look over my shoulder for a couple of days, I guess. You know, considering.’ Here, he gave a sheepish wave at the door on the floor._

_‘I might know something for that,’ Frank had offered, his mind half on something else already. Specifically, on Matt’s body. Christ, he’d just love to take him there and then. Against the wall. Preferably with Matt still wearing that shirt, the white fabric perfectly framing his taut, damaged body._

_Matt frowned. ‘Really?’_

_As if to show just what he was thinking of, Frank demonstratively placed his hands on Matt’s naked sides. The sharp intake of breath that followed was so audible that it gave Frank’s insides a guilty little kick that he felt all the way down to his crotch. He waited for a ‘no’, a sign that Matt didn’t want to be touched there that morning, then slid his hands inside the curve of Matt’s pants when the attorney didn’t protest. He never would._

_The touch of Frank’s fingers on his ass were enough to make Matt lose complete control. He dropped his coffee cup. It fell on the floor with a loud_ crash, _sending white shards of ceramics bouncing towards their naked feet. Then Matt’s hands shot to Frank’s neck. He kissed him there, hungrily. Stepping over the shards of the coffee cup he’d dropped, he let himself be shepherded backwards and backwards until he found himself pressed against a wall. Again. But this time, there was going to be nothing to stop them from getting exactly what they both wanted._

_Matt’s entire body was suddenly on edge. Behind him, there was the cold concrete wall, its texture rough and like sandpaper against Matt’s skin; in front of him, against his stomach and his chest and in between his legs, the heat of Frank’s body had lit a fire inside of him. The soft texture of Frank’s shirt rubbed up against the curve of his naked stomach at the same time the concrete wall rubbed his naked arms red, and his mind short-circuited just thinking about whether he wanted to get Frank naked or not._

_He felt Frank’s mouth all over: kissing his neck; his chest; the little scar on his cheek. Kisses marked the places that Frank most liked about Matt until teeth sank into his earlobe and made him cry out pathetically. Then Frank kissed him there again softly – so, so softly –, and the heat that spread through Matt’s neck was nearly enough to make his legs give out._

_‘That was for breaking my favourite coffee cup, Red.’_

_Matt said nothing. All he felt was pleasure, tenfold, when Frank went down on his knees on the carpet without having to ask._

_It was nothing Matt ever thought it would be – he’d always imagined_ he _would be the one on his knees, struggling with his buttons and belts like Frank was now; his hands shaking with nerves and excitement as he sucked Frank off – and yet it was everything Matt had ever wanted. For while Frank was nervous but rough in his removing of Matt’s belt, there was also a perfect softness: his hands were tender and careful when he pulled down Matt’s black boxers, and his lips even more so when he placed that first, tentative kiss right where Matt needed it: on his flat, scarred stomach, inches away from hard pleasure. There was nothing about it that was forced or calculated: the boys just let it all happen, one touch at a time, until they were free of all inhibition. They were free to do whatever they wanted to each other._

_Matt’s ass uncomfortably rubbed up against the rough, textured wall behind him, and Frank made up for it by placing his hands_ right there _and opening his mouth_ just so. _Matt could tell he’d done it before. Of course he had. He had never seen Frank, but he had a vague idea what he looked like. And by the looks of it, Frank Castle was a very experienced lover indeed._

_Quickly, different senses took over: the senses of touch, of smell, of wet, enveloping warmth — of hearing Frank moan softly against Matt’s skin when his nose touched his belly. (Not to mention Frank’s heartbeat, hammering so, so quickly against his chest. It was so fast that Matt thought it might explode, like_ he _would mere minutes later. Good God, Frank was good.)_

_On and on Frank went, bobbing his head up and down Matt’s cock until yet another sensation took over. He felt butterflies in his belly. His skin tingled all over with the needy pressure of Frank’s fingers on his thighs. His legs shook, pathetically, against the concrete wall. His breath came in short little bursts as he uttered embarrassing little sweet-nothings: ‘That’s it, Frank. Right there. Slower — slower. Oh God, that’s it —’_

_Matt felt like he was losing his virginity all over again, but unlike back then there was none of that first-time awkwardness, none of that half-pretending to be blind when he wasn’t really; today, he could be entirely the man Frank thought he was when a finger touched him right_ there _and he came, hard, down Frank’s throat. He heard and sensed Frank’s own release inside his pants only a second later. Frank carelessly wiped Matt’s wetness off his chin and licked the remnants off his fingers; a scandalous little spectacle for the sighted._

_Frank came up for a messy kiss then, and they embraced each other tight to hug out the tremors in their terrified but satisfied bodies. Still shaking, Frank brushed the wet hair from Matt’s forehead and kissed him there softly._

_‘Told you I’d handle it,’ Matt smiled some time later, a little smug to have been pleasured so excellently. He could still feel the tingle of his orgasm in his entire body._

_But Frank wasn’t done playing with Matt Murdock yet. ‘We’ll see about that.’_


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this final chapter of Work Like A Dog, an unexpected visitor changes everything.

So that’s how the altar boy and the unexpectedly wonderful Punisher spent their first morning together: with a broken door, a cup of coffee, and an excellent blowjob that they wouldn’t soon forget. The dog slept peacefully while both men softly found their release, and he didn’t wake again until it was time for his habitual morning walk. The men shyly cleaned up the mess they’d made (this took quite a long time because the cup that Matt had broken really _was_ Frank’s favourite, and he was quite sentimental about it; _and_ he needed a change of pants if he didn’t want to attract attention to himself in the park later), and to the front of the living room they went. The dog followed happily, wildly waving his tail.

Matt had never walked a dog before, especially not with someone he loved as much as Frank Castle, so he got to know a whole different side of Frank in the process — in particular when a nervous Frank then tried and failed to put a leash round his dog quite awkwardly. Matt wasn’t sure if Frank was nervous because of what he’d just done with his mouth or because he just couldn’t believe his luck that he was finally going to walk his dog again. Probably both.

It took a long time. Having spent so much time in a cage, transformed beyond recognition, the dog would not accept to be bound by a leash again. He just wouldn’t. Eventually, Frank agreed that the dog’s freedom would probably be for the best, and they left; dog and Frank, Frank and Matt, like a strange, happy family of three.

The walk itself, as we know, was uneventful but pleasant. The sun was shining and warmed up even the coldest of hearts. It slowly melted the frost that the events of the previous days had formed over the two men’s souls, and it was finally made official: Matt Murdock and Frank Castle, the happy twosome that stalked past a streaming fountain so they’d be home earlier, were a couple. There you go. They were boyfriend and boyfriend, at long last. They were so happy about the fact that they didn’t even notice the lost little drops of water that landed on their skins as they left the fountain behind them. The world was there, all around them, and yet all there was, was _them_ ; together.

They’d been through kennels, dark warehouses, dog attacks, pet shops, deep waters, chases, losses, scars, medical companies, terrible emptiness and deadly fires to get there, but it was worth it in the end. No-one would ever be able to take those first kisses and tentative touches away from them, not even the ghost of their previous arguments that had haunted them so. And what’s more, the best was yet to come.

Or rather, that was the idea.

They reached a T-junction. One gravel path led deeper into the park, past aromatic lavender fields and deep duck ponds, where beautiful foliage provided shelter for kissing couples on park benches. The other led to the large park gates, imposing in their height and bronze beauty. The dog had stopped, uncertain where Frank wanted them to go.

Matt thought he heard the busy whirr of Hell’s Kitchen behind the bronze gates. Meanwhile, the cries and barks of playing kids and animals seemed further away than ever: they must be back on the edge of the city. Did they really want to head back there already?

‘Are we heading back to yours?’ Matt asked Frank, uncertain because he didn’t know how long people generally walked their dogs.

‘Whatever you want, Red,’ Frank shrugged, but he sounded impatient.

Matt couldn’t see the paths of the gravel path stretch out before on their left, but he knew desperation when he heard it. Frank wanted to finish what they’d started this morning, and quickly too. ‘You sure about that, Frank? Seems to me you wouldn’t mind going back.’

There sounded a little flutter of a heartbeat. Matt had heard the exact same thing when he left the bathroom half-dressed that morning. It was excitement and high expectations, all compressed into a single heartbeat that warmed Matt up inside because he knew exactly what it meant. It meant Frank still wanted to make love to him. And it was an archaic term to use for two people who had done so much fighting and so little to prove that they actually loved each other (which they really did, you know), but it was what Matt wanted deep down, too. He wanted Frank to make love to him. Gently. Softly, warmly; carefully protected by the soft texture of a wool blanket as Frank rolled into him and filled him to the hilt.

Or maybe he just wanted Frank to fuck him senseless. That would work too.

‘And why would I want that, Red?’ Frank asked, rhetorically. There was a flirtiness to his voice; a challenging little tilt. Matt liked the sound of it.

‘I can hear your _heartbeat_ , Frank,’ Matt laughed. He lowered his voice to a whisper even though there was just them, the trees, the dog, and the soft rustling of the trees above them in this part of the park. They were all alone in their own little world, and it made Matt say, quite huskily, ‘You haven’t stopped feeling horny _since this morning_.’

This made the dog give an embarrassed bark. He did not feel like listening to his owners talking about the sort of thing two infatuated human beings do (despite the recent events, the dog still had a very innocent soul, you see), so he approached a Great Dane and started talking about the weather in short barks that were meaningless to the human ear. They discussed how lucky they were that it was not raining and that their bodies were spared an unwanted bath, and quickly the two dogs started complimenting each other’s flawless furs. Had Frank been capable of understanding dog speech, he would have known that one of his dog’s barks was an appreciative comment about him.

But Frank was too busy reminiscing about Matt’s dick to hear. ‘I guess it _was_ a good morning, huh?’ he said coquettishly. For a second, his mind flashed back to his own ruined pants. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed that.

‘But it can get better,’ Matt suggested with great affection, and they shared a quick, intimate kiss underneath the shade of an apple tree. Had they really been fighting just a few days ago? It felt like a lifetime. By now, the mission to get back Frank’s dog didn’t even feel like something that had actually happened: it felt like a long-lost memory in the back of their minds, ready to be reached if a future case demanded it but otherwise overshadowed by much greater memories. They didn’t have to keep reminding themselves of the mission if they had the biggest one of their lives yet to come.

A sharp whistle sounded and the Great Dane ran off to her owner, tail waving wildly. Frank’s dog slowly trotted back to his own pets, confident that they had finally stopped talking about dirty human things.

They left, and so the two men walked, side by side, until the park became a happy memory that they would go through almost every morning from then on. The dog happily trotted a few paces in front of them and occasionally attracted young children with its healthy, shiny fur. He looked little like the deranged dog Frank had saved last night, and absolutely nothing like the stranger Frank had met on a cold night many years ago. If it was destined that the dog and the human met, then it was a good thing they did.

Most of the time, Frank and Matt talked about the future, about moving out and moving in and broken doors and the lives they’d like to lead, but inevitably their minds would stray back to the mission. They were walking through a long, narrow street with verdant trees at either side when Matt thought of something that Frank had mentioned earlier that morning, right before Matt took his shower. He began, ‘Frank, when we — at your apartment, you said this mission ended when the bastard in the warehouse did.’ He gave a small shake of his head, not quite understanding what Frank had meant. ‘Who were you talking about?’

Frank’s eyes followed the sleek lines of a fire escape ladder; the kind he’d often climbed to get himself into trouble, long-range gun in hand. Before this all kicked off, he and Matt would often meet halfway, on the metal steps, with Matt desperately trying to convince him that _his_ righteous ways were better. They didn’t know how to work around each other’s methods yet back then. But they did now. Funny how much they’d grown over the past few years.

‘You know who I’m talking about, Red,’ Frank said at last. He pried his eyes away from the staircase. ‘Old guy, smart suit. The guy who set this whole damn thing up?’

But Matt could only shake his head. His lips were pressed together in a thin line as if he was choosing his next words very carefully. ‘The police only found the bodies of nine young adults, Frank,’ he explained, and this time there was none of that holy righteousness that usually coloured his tone when Frank had done something sinful. He mourned the loss of these criminals’ lives, as he had always done, but he didn’t quite condemn Frank for his actions either. ‘Whoever you met back there, he — he must’ve gotten away. I’m sorry.’

Frank did not speak for a while. He was suddenly having no trouble in taking the short road to his house: he had often been forced to cut his walks short because of the criminals he met along the way. But then the message sank in. ‘Well, shit,’ he said after a few minutes, and it sounded so painfully blunt that it elicited a nervous laugh from Matt.

‘I guess this isn’t over after all, huh?’ Matt said in an attempt to sound soothing, but he did not feel at all soothed himself.

Frank set his jaw. It didn’t bear thinking about what had happened in the warehouse, but now that he did he felt a cold chill all over his body. The stranger – the _bastard_ – must have gotten away while Frank was too busy fighting his own pet, and now he was out there somewhere, possibly trying to come up with ways of continuing his money-making schemes. God knows what evil plans he would try to get off the ground next time.

Frank said, ‘I guess not, Red,’ and looked away.

Here, Matt felt a dangerous spike in Frank’s adrenaline levels, so he took Frank’s hand in his and squeezed so hard that it hurt. Had they ever held hands so publicly before? Matt couldn’t recall, but they still walked comfortably through the streets of New York, hand in hand, until they had to swerve past stalls of melons, apples and pears and they were forced to let go. But the sentiment stuck: Frank appeared a lot less anxious already.

‘Just forget about it, Frank,’ Matt said, his voice steely and determined when he fell into step with Frank again. He listened to the soft touch of the dog’s paws on the rough concrete, and he made himself an intimate promise to keep his new family as safe as he possibly could. No-one would ever take this away from him again. No-one. Not even the ghost of a stranger that he’d never met. ‘Just forget about it,’ he reiterated with more conviction.

While the sartorial stranger in the warehouse did not leave Frank’s mind, he did appear remarkably calmer. Matt’s hand in his was more than enough to stanch his nerves. With their fingers perfectly welded together, it was as though they were two broken pieces of a puzzle, meant to be together always. Why had they never held hands like that before? It was wonderful.

‘You’re right, Red,’ Frank agreed. One day he’d get to the bottom of this endless case, but not when Matt Murdock was so wonderfully close and _his_. ‘There’s nothing I can do. But he _will_ be back, you know.’

‘If he ever does – _if_ –, we’ll be ready. Whoever he is,’ Matt nodded. He thought of what Frank had told him earlier: ‘ _Just because you’re who you are, doesn’t mean danger is around every corner, you know. I used to think that too, but – but it just slowed me down. It’s no way of living.’_ If there was ever a right time for Frank to stick to his own ideals, it was now. Frank had to let this go. He went on, ‘But like you said, looking over your shoulder is no way to live your life, Frank. We _have_ to find ways to stop ourselves from straying back to the dark. Together.’

Frank’s glance at Matt was delicately suggestive. Matt could sense him relaxing again. ‘I suppose I know a _few_ things to get my mind off it.’

‘I’m all ears, Frank.’

But they spoke no more, for they’d reached Frank’s apartment. They stepped inside – dog first, of course – and let the leftover smell of sweet coffee tickle their senses. It gave Matt the same sensation he felt every time he’d walked into a Starbucks with Foggy to go over their coursework. It smelled of long chats and great memories, and of Foggy accidentally pouring a cappuccino over a terribly important essay. In other words, it smelled of home.

‘I could get used to this,’ Matt smiled when he closed the door behind them.

‘Don’t get used to it just yet, Red. You still haven’t paid for what you did to that coffee cup, you know.’ Frank had said this very earnestly, but there was a big grin on his face where there was usually a permanent scowl; he’d just walked his dog with Matt Murdock!

‘I thought I already had, Frank.’

‘ _Huh_. You wish.’

The rest of the morning was just as wonderfully ordinary: they drank more coffee – Matt got an old plastic cup – and made out until the clock struck twelve and it was time to eat. They ate leftover sandwiches that Frank had found in the freezer and they had to heat up in the microwave, but it was perfect. Worn-out, the dog lay in his basket in front of the sofa and spent most of the morning with its eyes closed. (He did sporadically wake up to let out a judgmental bark when the boys’ conversation turned particularly suggestive, though.) Occasionally a police car rushed by, sirens sounding, and the two men would give each other a mischievous, intimate look or gesture before continuing to eat again. There would be no crime-fighting today.

(Or at least not before dinner.)

Then the clock struck three and it was time for another snack, and the afternoon took a different turn when Frank’s eyes widened and he made a sort of enlightened _oh!_ face on the sofa. Naturally, Matt did not see Frank’s _aha-erlebnis_ or eureka moment, but he did feel a significant change in Frank’s heartbeat.

‘Are you all right, Frank?’ Matt asked, his hand lazily stroking the dog’s fur. ‘You seem distracted all of a sudden.’

‘Yeah. I mean, no,’ Frank said, mumbling slightly. He had gone beet red. ‘I – I just realised I had a – a meeting with someone. Someone important.’

Matt frowned, for all his senses told them this was a Big Fat Lie. He tried not to let it show when he stopped petting the dog and sat up. The dog gave a disappointed sigh that meant ‘Hey, I was enjoying that!’ but to human ears it only sounded like a yap.

‘Who with?’ Matt asked as ignorantly as possible. His own heart was beating fast. Could Frank be planning to go after the stranger he met in the warehouse after all? Was this all about to kick off again, mere hours after they had saved Frank’s dog from harm? Or worse, was he about to meet another lover? (Of course not, Matt quickly told himself. Don’t be silly. Frank may be dangerous, but he wasn’t unfaithful.)

But Frank would not elaborate regardless of who he was meeting. ‘Just some guy, you know. About a dog. I mean, a guy at a pet shop. Big one. We’ve run out of dog food,’ he added just as unconvincingly, and he was for a moment reminiscent of a school boy who had broken his mom’s vase and was trying to cover it up. ‘The shop closes at seven.’

Matt had never heard Frank lie quite so unbelievably, which was perhaps what made Frank pull it off.

‘All right,’ Matt sighed, giving in. He had to trust Frank that whatever he was about to embark on was not deadly. (Or worse, against the law.) He gave Frank a soft kiss on the forehead, and Frank’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact. Matt could almost hear him changing his mind in the way he exhaled against his skin. ‘Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?’

‘I’m only going down to the pet shop, Red!’

‘Promise me, Frank.’

Frank’s promise came in the shape of an excellent kiss.

‘Meet you back here tomorrow, then?’ Matt offered a little uncertainly after they’d kissed. He got up from the sofa, and the dog yapped another disappointed remark at him. Why couldn’t his new owner stay a little longer?

Frank got up too. The sofa gave a complaining squeak as he did so. ‘I was actually planning to head back to yours when I’m done, Red.’

This almost sounded a little mischievous, and Matt wondered if it meant they were finally going to make love. Could Frank be planning something nice after all? Was Frank about to surprise him with something? ‘You’ve got something special planned, Frank?’

‘Something like that,’ Frank shrugged. He chuckled under his breath as if his secret plans were some inside joke and grinned all the way down to the pet shop.

Frank had something very special in mind indeed.

||

The afternoon had been so pleasant that Matt did not mind that it had ended early. After all, he had finally seen what Frank was like in his ordinary life, and they’d done an awful lot of kissing in the meantime. After days and days of rooftop chases and fighting crime, making out with Frank Castle would be the highlight of anyone’s day. Hell, the highlight of the _month_.

He was just very good at it, Frank was. He would always move his face _just so_ and make Matt fish for the touch until either of them just _had_ to fill the gap and they saw stars. Then Matt would hear and feel the scrape of Frank’s stubble against his cheek, and he’d again be reminded of Frank’s lips on his cock; sucking and tugging and doing everything _so_ right until Matt felt like he could no longer stand. That had been the best bit of all: Frank pleasuring him so well that he felt it all the way down to his toes. Frank was good for him like that. He was rough and dominant and a little bit mischievous, but also perfectly gentle. Matt loved it.

It was already dark when the day became interesting again. At a quarter to six, Matt heard Frank’s heartbeat long before the doorbell rang.

Matt reacted instantly. Like an infatuated madman, he jumped up from his sofa and leapt to his front door. He slowed down for the last few paces because he didn’t want to look _too_ desperate and opened the door as casually as he could. (This failed: he actually ended up opening the door quite rigorously.) He was so glad that Frank had kept his promise that he had not heard the third heartbeat in the hallway.

‘Frank,’ Matt breathed. His face beamed a happy welcome. ‘You came.’

Dazed as he was with love for Frank, Matt also did not notice that his lover had his hands behind his back as if he were holding a very large box-like object or present.

Frank smiled widely when he saw Matt. A sliver of city lights escaped through the doorway, illuminating the dirty gloom of Matt’s hallway. It felt like a different room now that Frank was here. The last time Matt stood here, he was terrified of two innocent individuals he thought had come to kill him. How long ago that felt now.

‘I said I would,’ Frank said. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Of course.’

Had Matt been sighted, he would have known that Frank had a stupid grin on his face the entire time. It quite suited him. It was only when Matt closed the door and followed Frank into his own living room that he understood why his lover looked so incredibly pleased with himself.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Matt when his ears finally picked up on that third heartbeat Frank had brought with him, ‘is your dog with you?’

‘I let him at a friend’s. Nothing to worry about.’

But Matt could definitely hear a quick heartbeat right now, like a _dog’s._ ‘Then who . . .’

‘Let me show you, Red.’ Here, Frank removed his hands from his back and revealed what he was holding like a magician conjuring up a bouquet of roses. The drama of the gesture had made Matt’s ears paint a picture of something small and plastic, but generally plastic objects do not have heartbeats.

‘Frank, help me out here. What are you holding?’

‘Right. Sorry.’

Clumsily, Frank put the plastic object on the floor. A few seconds later, Matt could feel something small and soft being put against his chest. And trembling, and alive.

‘Hold her, Red.’

Confused, Matt did as he was told. He curved his arms around the perplexing object and held it there. A smell of clean fur washed over him, and along with it came a flashback to the very start of their mission, when he and Frank visited a kennel that had been broken into by the criminals they were after. There, they met a Chihuahua that Frank had seemed very fond of. They petted it together, and their hands touched for one of the very first times. (Frank also ended up having to watch several hours of webcam footage, which was very amusing indeed.)

Then the penny dropped.

‘ _Frank_ ,’ Matt said with emphasis. He suddenly remembered how tenderly Frank had held the Chihuahua in his arms and how often he had mentioned her since. ‘You didn’t.’

‘I did.’

Comfortable in Matt’s embrace, the Chihuahua in his arms had dozed off already. She was snoring slightly, if dogs snored. ‘ _Why_.’

‘So you won’t get lonely, Red, that’s why.’

Matt’s mind flashed back to the conversation they had in the kennel. They were discussing dogs and quite how strongly Matt thought he could do without one.

_‘What if you get lonely, Red?’ Frank had asked him. ‘Then what? You still don’t want pets then? I mean, you know, I know you can’t see them, but . . .’_

_Matt had laughed incredulously at that. Him, lonely? What a stupid notion. ‘I — I don’t get lonely, Frank,’ he had lied._

_And Frank had seen right through it. Of course he had. ‘I think that’s bullshit.’_

_‘And why’s that, Frank?’_

_‘Why else would you still be spending time with me, Red? Huh?’_

_There was that flutter in Matt’s tummy again. Only Frank was capable of making him feel that, even then. ‘That’s – that’s a fair point, I’ll give you that.’_

Still Matt was not convinced, as flattering as Frank’s present was. ‘But I already have _you_ ,’ he told Frank in his living room.

‘Yeah, but I won’t always _be_ there.’

‘Weren’t we going to move in together?’ Matt had definitely remembered them discussing this in between blowjobs and making out.

‘You’ll still have your job, Red. And I’ll have mine.’

This explained nothing. Was Frank going to go back to being the Punisher so soon after all? ‘So what, Frank? Do you expect the Chihuahua to help me solve cases with Foggy?’

This comment stung. ‘I thought you’d be happy, Red.’

The Chihuahua stirred in her sleep. Matt unconsciously held her tighter to his chest. ‘I – I am, but . . .’

‘You’re not.’

A lot was happening all around them. Voices rose up in the street outside. A fast car sped by. The flashing lights of a police car followed a second later, illuminating Matt’s dark living room a bright red and blue. The strong smell of a neighbour’s dinner hit Matt and Frank’s nostrils – chicken tandoori –, but all they were really aware of was the oddly ordinary argument they were suddenly having: 

‘It’s a _dog_ , Frank. You – we need to discuss these things.’

Frank crossed his arms defensively. ‘I have, you know. This morning.’

‘You definitely haven’t.’ Matt blushed. ‘I’d remember.’ He certainly remembered Frank’s mouth doing _one_ thing.

But Frank was beginning to sound cross. His chest rose in a deep, deliberate sigh. ‘Well, I’m not bringing her back.’

‘We’re not _keeping_ her either.’

Frank let out an incredulous scoff. ‘So what, you just wanna drop her on the street? That’s how I found _my_ dog, you know. On the damn street, getting beat up by some — by some _thugs._ You want her to end up like that too? You want her to end up lost and hurt and — and in _pain_? You wanna do that to her?’

‘I never said that!’ Matt cried, exasperated. This woke the dog, and she gave a distraught little yap that made Matt hold the dog closer to his chest.

‘You’ve upset her!’ Frank said, his loud voice a match for Matt’s, and he tried to pry the Chihuahua out of Matt’s hands. ‘Give her here.’

‘Be careful.’

‘Give her _here_ ,’ Frank uttered in a cross, tired fashion.

‘Now _you’re_ upsetting her.’

‘God dammit, Matt. I know what I’m d—’ But Frank never got to finish his sentence, for the Chihuahua painfully nipped Frank’s hand with her teeth and escaped from Matt’s tight grip. She landed onto the floor with all the grace of a short-legged cat and ran into Matt’s bedroom as quickly as her short legs would carry her. If she were capable of angrily closing the door behind her like a veritable teenager, she would have done so. But alas, the diminutive dog could only waggle her tail angrily in protest as she hid underneath the bed and trembled there.

Matt and Frank did not say anything for a while, but their flushed faces said everything. They’d just done something very embarrassing indeed. It was even more shameful than the countless arguments they’d had during their missions.

‘That went well,’ Matt sighed.

‘Not thanks to you, Red. What do you think she’ll think of us now, huh?’ Frank held up his hand in the light of the living room window. ‘And she bit me.’

Matt thought he’d gathered as much. He motioned his hand at the kitchen. Wanting to make his house look more welcoming for whenever Frank came here, he had recently gone through the effort of cleaning it. He had even gone out to buy several snacks and alcoholic beverages this afternoon — just in case they needed something to loosen their inhibition. (They didn’t.) ‘Come, I’ve got a first-aid kit in the kitchen.’

Frank’s mind flashed back to how wonderful Matt’s hands had felt on his scars a few days ago. ‘I don’t need you to take care of it,’ he mumbled. It was an obvious lie, even more so than his lie about heading to the pet shop.

‘Yeah, you do. Come on.'

If Frank found this request at all a nuisance, he didn’t show it. Matt beckoned him to the kitchen with a nod of his head, and there he opened a cluttered kitchen drawer absolutely overflowing with corkscrews, plates, glasses, jars, paperclips, sandwich boxes, spoons, knives, a loaf of bread, forks, ladles, peelers, cans, and a loaded gun. (For security, in case someone broke into his apartment again.) There was also a packet of condoms. (Again, just in case.) When Matt turned round, he was brandishing a large first-aid kit that he’d found underneath a layer of paperclips and slotted spatulas. Claire had left it there for him.

It was just a superficial scrape, but a dog bite nonetheless, so Matt asked Frank to hold his wounded hand underneath a running tap before ceremoniously opening the half-empty first-aid kit on the kitchen counter. Matt did this all so very seriously that it made Frank let out a short bark of a laugh. He wasn’t that badly injured!

‘It’s only a scratch, Red. There’s no need to pretend like you’re that friend of yours,’ he said, referring to Claire. ‘I’m not _dying_.’

‘Still,’ said Matt, as though that explained anything at all. He applied a clear liquid to a cotton pad that filled the air with the staunchly smell of alcohol and made his own face distort in distaste. Then he ordered with some authority, ‘Give me your hand, Frank.’

Frank did as he was told: he held out his hand, and when Matt took it and started applying the unfamiliar substance on the scrape on his thumb, it was with none of the authority that Matt’s voice had hinted at. The cotton pad was soft, almost velvet-like in its application, but it was nothing compared to those soft, tender hands that held it, applying just the right pressure on Frank’s fingers. It was titillating. How could something so simple feel so much like electrifying brush strokes on his skin?

It was almost better than that blissful morning, so long ago, when Matt touched Frank’s scars one story at a time and got to know him in more ways than one, but this time the stories were yet to be mended. Together, they were already creating better ones. (And they might even create small scars on each other’s sides a while later . . .)

‘I’m sorry I shouted at you, Red,’ Frank said at one point. He sounded sincere. ‘I just hate seeing dogs in pain, you know. She’s been in that kennel for months. I couldn’t just let her stay there. I thought you’d like it.’

‘I know. And I do,’ Matt said, meaning it too (he did like how warm the Chihuahua had felt against his chest), ‘I just . . . I wasn’t expecting it. You need to _tell_ me when you want to adopt a new dog next time, Frank. That’s what couples do. We want to move in together, don’t we? That means we talk about these things.’

Frank’s eyes had lit up at the mention of the word ‘couples’. He couldn’t remember Matt ever referring to the two of them as a couple before. ‘You’re not angry?’

Matt smiled at him. ‘Of course I’m not.’ A very naughty idea came into his mind then. ‘I’ll prove it.’

Matt didn’t elaborate what he was talking about, for the bandage came next. It was a small one, barely the size of a pinkie finger. Matt slowly but efficiently put it on the nick the dog had made, and when he was happy with his handiwork he actually kissed Frank there. Softly. Tenderly, as though a kiss might numb the pain. Then came another kiss, light and airy, on Frank’s palm. Then higher. Another, on Frank’s slender fingers. Soft pecks warmed Frank up and melted the band-aid into his damaged skin until Matt took one finger into his mouth and _sucked_ , gently.

Frank’s response was instantaneous. He inhaled sharply at the touch. Heat rose up his cheeks. His pulse quickened. There was _that_ twitch, down below.

It was the simplest gesture, intimate and perfectly innocent, and yet the wicked way Frank’s finger disappeared into that hot, wet mouth, inch by inch, second by second, was enough to change everything. This was the start of an evening they’d never forget.

(And goddamn, was Matt good at it. His mouth just looked _perfect_ for fucking. Really, really fucking perfect.)

The moment didn’t last long, but Frank’s finger was still red by the time Matt gave it a final suck. He kissed it again for good measure, put on a voice that sounded devilishly innocent and said: ‘There, all better now, Mr. Castle.’ In another person’s mouth, the words would have sounded ridiculous, try-hard, but Matt’s were clipped with experience. He had done this sort of thing before. And _liked_ it.

The words had hit their mark. Already, the Chihuahua underneath the bed had quite left Frank’s mind. (And quite selfishly, so had Frank’s own dog. But only because he was finally able to _not_ worry about him.) ‘I don’t know about that, Red,’ he said, a lot less innocently than his lover’s remark. His eyes flicked at that perfect, red mouth of Matt’s. ‘I can think of a few wounds you could take care of.’

Matt smiled coquettishly. His own quick heartbeat matched Frank’s in anticipation. Being able to read every single tilt of Frank’s heart, every intake of breath and soft fluttering of eyelashes as Frank’s eyes looked him up and down, Matt already knew exactly what they were headed towards. Towards love. Towards sex: the sort of sex that leaves you breathless; towards love-making that makes you re-count all the kisses and red marks on your body afterwards. ‘And where would they be, Frank?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know, huh?’

It was the magic password they needed. They kissed, but it was with none of the tenderness they had felt previously. This was hard and needy and just that bit painful when Frank bit Matt’s lip and drew blood. Then Frank’s hands grabbed Matt’s sides, his fingers tight and possessive in their hold, and Matt again found himself being pushed backwards until he stumbled, ass first, into a kitchen counter that was low enough for him to be bent over later. Frank had already decided he would do just that, in a minute. There’d be no boring missionary shit today. There might never be.

They kissed and kissed. A cold draft fell over their exposed forearms as a window was pushed open and a furry stranger stumbled through it, but they felt only the desire that each lick, bite and touch stirred up inside them. It was everything their first meeting had led up to: from the first time they heard of each other and Matt found himself on a rooftop, cold and in danger and so tied-up in everything, till now, with their bodies saying everything their tongues couldn’t. This was every bit the evening they deserved. It’d been written in the stars from the moment they met.

The men stopped, mid-kiss, to catch their breaths. Frank’s larger body was pressed hard against Matt’s. And behind him, the kitchen counter was cold and inviting against his back, so cold, so unromantic, and yet Matt wanted nothing more than to feel it against his cheek. His body. He wanted to feel the grain of the concrete underneath his palm as Frank took him, hard. And harder. And then softly again, with Frank’s lips bringing him right back to Earth, soothing him. And then harder and harder until stars in his eyes painted him a world that was red and chock-full of love. With Frank’s hands and lips, Matt could suddenly see and sense everything.

‘Make love to me, Frank,’ Matt breathed. Their foreheads were pressed together as though they were not yet close enough; as though just kissing would never be enough. His shaking hands had moved to the small of Frank’s back, where wet, soft cotton slipped right through his fingers. If Frank was sweating already, it didn’t bear thinking about how wet he’d be when they made love. (This was a good thing.) ‘Please.’

But Frank was not yet giving in, not yet anyway — he’d tease and tease until Matt _begged_ for it. He’d tease till Matt called Frank his lover and the night came crashing down on them and there was only the light of the city streets to illuminate their rolling, sweat-slicked bodies on the floor. He wanted to hear Matt’s mouth utter every single begging for sex there was.

The thought made mischief slip into Frank’s voice. It was tinged with need; with desire. And also with that same stubbornness that suited him so well. ‘Make love, huh? That shit’s _boring_ , Matt.’

Matt could feel Frank’s laugh against his cheek, and it tingled. His lips moved to Matt’s ear, where they elicited a deliciously scandalous gasp. His hold on Matt’s sides tightened, marking him. Matt was his now. Frank was his. And Frank wanted a lot more than sweet, dull love-making in bed.

‘Now, Matt, why don’t you tell me what you _really_ want?’ He kissed Matt’s ear again, less gently. ‘Don’t hold back.’

Matt was too speechless to utter a compressible sentence. He started when Frank’s hand suddenly moved to the back of his head, pulling his hair; showing him what the Punisher had in mind for him. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. This was turning out to be quite the evening.

‘You wanna know what _I_ want, Red?’ Here, Frank’s hands moved back down, to the front of Matt’s pants. Matt was already hard, very hard, and Frank let out a smug laugh when he found out about it. (He also wondered if Matt would respond well to being called a slut, but he didn’t want to take his chances. Yet.) ‘I’d rather have you where you belong, Red. With your knees on the cold floor, like the _good_ little altar boy you are — fucking me with that sweet little mouth of yours.’

This did it. All of a sudden, Matt’s heart was racing as hard as Frank’s. His head was spinning at Frank’s scandalous dirty talk. He felt hot inside. His hands were mirroring his lover’s: fumbling with buttons, pulling down zippers. And all with shaking hands. At last, Frank had rendered him the young, nervous, horny infatuated lover he hadn’t been for a long, long time. It was exhilarating.

‘And w-what if I don’t want to be good?’ Matt rasped, his breath shaky. He hadn’t felt this damn nervous since he lost his virginity.

But like that awkward, wet, messy night so long ago, there eventually had to come a moment when both men’s pants and boxers hit the floor with soft little thuds and they were both half-naked and beautiful. Matt couldn’t see Frank’s eyes flicking down at his hard cock, but he sure felt it.

‘You sure you wanna go down that road, huh?’

Matt inhaled sharply when he felt Frank’s hands on him again. He started jerking the both of them off in perfect, frictional strokes that Matt felt all the way down to his toes. It was good enough to render Matt absolutely speechless again; his hands clutched the kitchen counter behind him as though he needed something to hold on to.

And he couldn’t see, but Frank’s dick definitely felt a bit bigger against his. (A _bit_.)

‘Matt.’ Frank’s voice sounded less dominant now. It was laced with a desperate need to hear Matt’s permission to take things further. He repeated himself. Still rubbing, still touching. His hands were perfect. ‘You wanna go down that road?’

‘Y-yes,’ was all Matt could croak out. He repeated the word determinedly so that Frank wouldn’t guess how absolutely terrified he was. ‘Yes.’

‘Tell me how much you want it.’

Frank’s fingers were making it hard to talk. ‘M-more than anything.’

The words breached Frank’s concentration slowly. Matt _wanted_ this. There would be no excuses, no pulling out, metaphorically speaking. (Pulling out was kinda Frank’s thing.) ‘Really, huh? You want it that bad?’ Again, this was not Frank being dominant and hard: it was him making absolutely sure that Matt wanted this as much as he did.

And he did.

Matt nodded almost imperceptibly. _Yes_.

Then they were off. Another perfect stroke made Matt lose his train of thought, and it made the perfect opening for another kiss, messier and hungrier still. Their jackets and shirts were the last pieces of clothing to go, and there they suddenly were; as naked as they could be, with kisses and friction melting away their fears until they were both warm enough to take things further. And further. And further.

(And boy, did Matt’s body look good when it was all flushed and _hard_.)

The two men were so infatuated that they no longer even heard the sounds from the outside world. No police sirens reached their ears through the open window. As it should, the world suddenly seemed frozen into a safe, impenetrable stillness of love and desire as Frank flipped over Matt’s body and pushed him, hard, against the kitchen counter.

With Matt’s naked body now bent over the kitchen counter, Frank’s hands on his ass, where they belonged, Frank was now perfectly poised to fuck – Matt – right – there. Goddamn, Matt wasn’t even resisting. He just pushed up his ass even more as if to say, _take me now. Take me here._ But Frank Castle was a tease and a half, and the attorney would not get his fill until he’d done more begging.

Quickly, things got kinkier. Harder. Of course they did.

Matt was too focussed on everything else to hear Frank’s hand coming. He inhaled sharply when he felt the sting of Frank’s palm against his cheeks, and then again when Frank repeated the motion. He should’ve known that Frank was into this sort of thing.

‘You like that shit, Red?’

Matt thought he could feel Frank’s dick against the curve of his ass. It was rock hard. ‘Y-yeah.’ He let out a moan when he felt a light trickle of fluid brushing his skin. (And wet, apparently.) ‘ _Oh fuck_. Dammit, Frank.’

Matt’s reaction to being spanked and touched like that made Frank want to try something else. He wet his own finger, then pushed it inside of Matt as slowly and carefully as he could. Matt’s reaction was utterly delicious: he wriggled his ass and begged Frank for more, more, more as Frank pushed in another finger and arched them inside _perfectly_. Matt wasn’t such an innocent little altar boy at all then. (Still fucking tight, though. Damn.)

Then Frank got bored fingering Matt, and he returned his hands to the far more tempting flesh of Matt’s legs. Needy hands curved over Matt’s thighs as his dick rubbed against his lover’s naked body. Lower and lower he went until was in the ideal position to spread Matt’s legs and push in at a perfect, excruciating angle. Except, he didn’t. He hazarded the words he wanted to say to Matt, the ones that might push the both of them over the edge: dirty, scandalous words that would make everything hotter, harder, and filthier.

But in the end, Frank decided not to utter them. Instead, he wrapped himself over Matt’s back, his heavy body like a comfortable blanket against the contrasting cold of the counter, then whispered three different words that made just as much of an impact. What followed, was Matt turning redder than Frank had ever seen him. They kissed passionately, a little awkwardly perhaps because of the angle, then returned to their respective positions after Frank had fished a condom from the pocket of his clean trousers. They needn’t say anything else.

Frank placed his hands on Matt’s legs again, fingers splayed. His cock pressed delicately close to Matt’s perineum, he was about to push inside and become one with the one he called his lover when Matt let out an unrelated ‘ _oh_ ’.

Frank repeated the word quizzically. ‘ _Oh_?’

Matt looked suddenly a bit lost, which was slightly awkward because he was quite naked on his own kitchen counter. ‘Frank.’

‘Yeah?’ Frank’s tone sounded clipped with impatience.

‘The _Chihuahua_ , Frank.’

Frank reluctantly stopped what he was doing. ‘What about her?’

If Matt could have given Frank a Look, he would have done so. All of a sudden distracted as if he had heard something Frank hadn’t (he had), Matt removed himself from the cold comforts on the kitchen counter and nearly ended up putting on Frank’s clothes instead of his own. He hastened to his bedroom half-naked, and Frank had no choice but to follow suit, grumbling slightly. It made for quite an amusing sight.

When Frank had finally put his pants on and joined Matt in his small bedroom, he immediately knew what had prompted Matt to stop what they were doing.

Matt’s bedroom window was open.

And the Chihuahua – their new, cute, shaking Chihuahua – was _gone_.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it, the end of this story. It's exactly the final chapter I had envisioned when I started writing this story, and I'm glad that I didn't give up on it.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoyed it!


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